The Guardian of the Stone
by Katie Moon
Summary: Gemma's father wanted her to take care of a weird inherited stone as his dying wish, but when she is transported to Middle Earth, she has some major regrets about her promise. Gandalf and Thorin want to know why she has the Arkenstone and Gemma just wants to know why she's in a fairy tale. Story will contain a mass amount of Cherokee legend and Norse mythology. Thorin/OC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one: Remember

Gemma Halvard hated odd numbers and she considered this to be a reasonable reaction to the events that some people might view as coincidences. The day was April 15th, 2011 and her father, Leon, had died two days ago on the 13th, on Third Street at around 7pm, if you want to be precise. There had been three people in the car that had hit her father's rusted red truck. Her father had lasted five hours on the operating table before he died. Gemma was 23 years old as of last month and she was certainly too young to be without both parents, but she'd known people who had never had parents to begin with and she tried to use this fact to make her feel less sorry for herself. Gemma's mother, Marion, had died when Gemma was only 13. When the doctor diagnosed Marion with brain cancer, he expected her to last maybe 6 months at the most, but Mrs. Halvard had only made it through one. Gemma would never call herself superstitious. She believed in facts and proven theories and it was a fact that, for Gemma, odd numbers were an ill omen. She was not superstitious, but odd numbers seemed to despise Gemma. And Gemma loathed them back just as fiercely.

Gemma also hated funerals, but couldn't think of anyone who _didn't_ hate funerals. No person is supposed to enjoy funerals, at least not from her perspective. Her father was dead and there was nothing positive she could take away from that. She wore a navy dress, her father's favorite color, and her shoes were too tight. She had forgotten to pack any shoes other than the ones she wore on the plane and so she was forced to rummage through the things her father had left in her old room when she had moved out.

It had been painful to enter her childhood home. Never had it seemed as unfamiliar as when she entered it earlier that morning. It had only been vacant for little more than a day, but it felt as if it had not been lived in for years. Gemma had visited during the Christmas holidays a few months back and it had remained to be the cheery, crowded, if not more unkempt, place she remembered growing up in. Yet now, it was a mausoleum of pain and reality she was unwilling to face. She had hurried up to her old bedroom and rummaged for a decent pair of shoes before leaving the house, determined to stay in a hotel for the next seven days.

She drove to the nearest motel and had booked a room for a week. Once she had gotten settled in the cheapest room the motel had available, she bought a ticket for the plane ride home. She wasn't looking forward to spending the ten hours it would take to fly from Oklahoma to Maine in coach seating, but she could hardly afford anything else. After that, she had changed into her dress and drove back to her father's house, which she supposed would now be her house, as she was the sole inheritor of her father's estate, until she sold it as soon as she was able to. Gemma had no siblings and no other living relatives that she knew of.

The funeral was to be held in the 4-acre field behind the house under a large oak tree. Gemma had been born under that tree and her mother was buried there as well. Gemma's mother had loved that tree and it was the sole reason her parents had bought the house in 1984, four years before Gemma came along. It had been quite large and had only grown since then, remaining a lone stalwart figure on a small hill, breaking the line of horizon on the western side of the acreage. Marion had been obsessed with symbolism, she believed everything had a deeper meaning, and upon seeing the tree insisted that there was no better place to put down roots than a place that housed such strong ones already. She had studied and mastered in Scandinavian lore, Norse mythology, and had published several books on the subject. And so she had named the oak tree Yggdrasil, after the tree that connected all nine realms that belonged to Odin and his tales. Marion considered herself to be very connected to nature and when she became pregnant with Gemma she was determined to deliver her under that tree, no matter what her doctor said. Gemma's father had protested slightly, but conceded after convincing Marion to at least hire a midwife to be present. Leon was Cherokee and proud of this so, as long as both mother and baby were safe, figured such an act would only bring good fortune.

When Gemma arrived back at the house, she parked her small rented Toyota and walked straight towards the tree. The pastor would be there already with a few men from the reservation to prepare the burial spot and she didn't have any reason to linger by the bricked dwelling. Her shoes were dusty and her toes were sore by the time she reached the oak tree and the people working under it. The weather was warming up already, spring had already begun to dissipate, and the men digging up the ground were sweating fiercely. Gemma herself felt a bead of sweat trickle down her neck and grimaced. _Thank God for deodorant_, she thought.

Now she stood in front of the pastor, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but his eyes were shut and she was hesitant to interrupt his silence. Pastor Gordon had been old when Gemma was a child and he was old still. His face was leathery and lined, but you could see a hint of past handsomeness when he smiled. His hair was a long white braid falling behind shoulders that were covered in a clean denim button-down shirt. His black pants were crisp and creased at the seam and his boots had a freshly-polished sheen to them.

Gemma waited silently, listening to the three men digging quickly, but efficiently behind the pastor. She glanced at the stone that marked her mother's grave and then at oak tree and the heart with Gemma's initials, G.P.H., inside of it that Marion had carved into Yggdrasil after Gemma was born. She stared at the carving, willing the tears that had gathered in her green eyes to disappear. She would not allow herself to cry yet. That would come later. Gemma realized that today of all days she missed her mother more than any other day in her life. Now that her father was gone, she felt the full impact of her mother's absence. Gemma needed Marion there to hold her hand, to rub her shoulder, to pat her cheek, just as her father had done for her during her mother's funeral. Now, Gemma had no one and while she was used to, and fond of, solitude, she felt isolated and alone.

Pastor Gordon opened his eyes and cleared his throat. Gemma started at the sound and quickly turned towards him. The man nodded his head serenely and said, "This is a good day for grief." Gemma blinked, unsure of how to reply to such a statement. She had forgotten what it was like to have a conversation with the man. Pastor Gordon was wise and respected, but he had a tendency to catch you off guard when he spoke. Gemma simply nodded and fiddled with one of the woven bracelets on her right arm.

"Your father wished to be buried in something simple so his neighbor made him a pine box. Many have given me gifts to bury with him, what will you add?"

Gemma expected this question. Her ancestors had been buried with gifts as per tradition and custom and, upon her father's insistence, so had her mother. Gemma had given her mother a beaded bracelet she had made in school, but she had learned many skills since then. "I brought a blanket I have woven, but I will bury it with him after the guests leave."

Pastor Gordon nodded again, "That will do just fine. It is a good gift." He turned to look at the progress of the men and their digging. They were almost finished and Gemma wondered how long they had been under the oak tree. "Your father should have been put to ground yesterday, but I think it is good we waited for his only child to sing a mourning song," the pastor said, frowning slightly.

Gemma was glad they had waited. The Cherokee did not like to wait to bury the dead, but the Cherokee also respected family and the mourning rites they were given. "I wish I could have gotten here yesterday, but my flight was delayed too long. Thank you for waiting," Gemma replied. Pastor Gordon looked back at her, smiling softly, and Gemma could see a few years drift off of his face. His presence was calming and she felt reassured.

"Will you remain for the full seven days?"

Gemma wished she could tell him no, but she knew her father would have wanted her to stay. She was to mourn her father for seven days, not once speaking his name. She would do this, but she also needed to use the time to get her father's estate settled and sold before she left. Gemma simply said, "Yes."

Pastor Gordon said nothing, as if he knew her answer before she could reply and so did not need to acknowledge her response. The three diggers, now so covered in dust, dirt and sweat that they looked like wild creatures more than men, finished the deep hole in the ground and were shaking off some of the filth while Gemma looked at them. She was not surprised that she did not recognize them, but she was unhappy that there were three of them and not two or four and she cursed odd numbers silently. They shook hands with the pastor and he gave them words of gratitude before they left. They did not look at Gemma once and this unnerved her slightly. It may have been a sign of respect, but it only made her feel like a ghost, like an invisible intruder standing in the field under the oak tree.

The men were gone and when Gemma turned to look back towards the house she saw perhaps about fifty people walking towards the tree and towards her. She shied back towards the tree and focused once again on her mother's carved heart. She disliked crowds and being the focus of them. The service started when the group reached the tree, but Gemma remained fixated on the carving, determined to not look at anyone, to not bring more attention to herself. It wasn't until she heard the thud of her father's simple casket hit the ground beside the freshly dug hole that she realized Pastor Gordon had finished his speech and was waiting on her to start singing. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let out a long sigh. Tears formed in her eyes and she let them fall. She took another breath and began to sing. Gemma had intended to sing a few lines of sad sounds and chants, but what came out was the traditional Cherokee morning song,

We n' de ya ho, We n' de ya ho,

We n' de ya, We n' de ya Ho ho ho ho,

He ya ho, He ya ho, Ya ya ya

(I am of the Great Spirit, ho! I am of the Great

Spirit, ho! I am of the Great Spirit, I am of the Great Spirit, Ho!

It is so, it is so. Great Spirit, Great Spirit.)

She repeated the verse three times and when she was done, she was sobbing. Her knees faltered so she gently sank to the ground. While Pastor Gordon and the rest of the mourners picked up her song, two people from the crowd began to lower her father into the deep pit besides Gemma. She tried to watch the coffin descend, but all she could see was a blur of color that only slightly cleared after each tear fell. Instead, she looked up towards the top of the oak tree. Its green leaves could not stop the sun from filtering through to the ground and Gemma's eyes burned from the brightness, but the sun was more bearable than her grief so she kept her head tilted towards the sky. She cried and cried and did not notice when the others had stopped singing. She did not notice when the coffin reached the bottom of the hole or when the crowd slowly drifted away one by one. She didn't even notice as each person passed the grave and patted her shoulder once before leaving. It wasn't until Pastor Gordon sat beside her on the ground and took her hand, humming the Morning Song, that Gemma let her head fall down to her chest. Her tears slowed and her breath evened. When Gemma tears stopped completely, Pastor Gordon said, "Remember, we cannot exist without the sun." Gemma said nothing and Pastor Gordon waited a moment before he too patted her shoulder once and then left her alone.

She sat there, her eyes swollen, her nose sniffling, and her feet aching from the too-tight shoes, and she wished for her mother. She wished for her father, too, but gave thanks for the time she was able to have with him. She would give anything to have spent another decade with both of them.

The sun had lowered a ways in the sky and Gemma stood up. She walked slowly back to the Toyota to grab the blanket she'd woven for her father's burial gift. As she reached the car, another vehicle pulled up beside hers. A tall, balding, portly man got out. It was her father's attorney, a friend of her mother's from Marion's college days. Gemma had met him first when her mother died and had only seen him one other time after that, but he was recognizable enough. Gemma was not expecting to see him until tomorrow. She was not emotionally prepared to deal with him today.

"Hello Ms. Halvard," the man said loudly while slamming his car door, "My name is Mr. Thomas Pont. I don't know if you remember, but I handled your mother's affairs when she—" Gemma interrupted him, "Yes, I remember."

"Oh. Good, good. I'm sorry to show up early and unexpected, but I came across something in your father's papers that was time-sensitive. Shall we go inside?" Gemma could have forgiven him the early arrival, but the mention of stepping inside her childhood home made her stomach lurch. It was too soon, much sooner than Gemma had planned to go back into the house, but she was tired and admittedly curious about what could be so important that Mr. Pont needed to come a day early. So Gemma opened the passenger side door of her rental and grabbed her purse and a duffel bag that held clothes and the blanket she would bury with her father. She found the house keys after some digging and when she produced them, the pair walked to the door and stepped inside. Gemma's stomach lurched again, but she was determined to ignore it, to ignore the harsh, painful echo of memory.

They sat at the dining room table and Mr. Pont pulled a single envelope out of a briefcase he had been carrying. "I won't go into the nitty-gritty stuff until tomorrow, but your father wanted me to give you this letter on the day of his burial. His will stated it was vital you get it today," he said with a tone of importance, as if Gemma should thank him for delivering it to her. He then slid the envelope across the table and she picked it up. There was only her name on the front in her father's slanted handwriting, but she wanted to cradle the small paper as if it were a thing to be treasured. Her father had given her one last thing and if it was only her name in his nearly illegible script, she would treasure it. The ache in her stomach drifted upwards to her chest and became a deep burn of longing. Slowly, she slid her finger between the seal and pulled out a thin piece of sketch paper. On it was a note that read,

Dearest Papina,  
Remember the Ulunsuti. Remember the words. Remember your words. Remember your mother's words. And remember I am with you always.  
Donadagohv i (Until we meet again),  
Edoda (Father)

When she finished reading the note for the third time, she looked up, but Mr. Pont had risen out of his chair to read it over her shoulder. She jerked the letter close to her chest, obscuring it from his view. She was appalled. The letter was private and this man was almost a stranger to her. Gemma was about to voice her anger, but he said, presumptuously, "Who is Papina?" It took Gemma a moment to understand what he was asking for he had pronounced the name incorrectly, like Pop-in-a. She scoffed at him. "It's Pah-PEE-nah, my middle name and my father's pet name for me." Before Mr. Pont could continue his rude, intrusive behavior, she said swiftly, "My father is dead, Mr. Pont, please understand that I wish to be left alone until tomorrow. I will welcome you back then." The man look slightly abashed and stood up, briefcase in hand. Gemma walked him to the door and closed it soundly after his hurried, "Until tomorrow." She tried to shake off the lingering feeling of disdain and picked up the letter once more. She had forgotten about the Ulunsuti, but she remembered well the ridiculous fervor her father had held towards it.

* * *

On Gemma's eighth birthday, Leon had taken her to the furthest east corner of their land and Gemma had been very excited, expecting to finally get that pony she'd begged for. Gemma hadn't ever had a pet before, they'd had chickens and a single goat, but her mother was allergic to cats and her parents insisted she wasn't old enough to take care of a dog yet. Her young mind couldn't understand why a pony would be any more troublesome than a dog. You wouldn't even have to feed it; they ate grass, for goodness sake, and they had plenty of that to spare. She even knew how to ride one. She had been on a horse twice at the county festival, surely she was an expert.

What her father showed her was not, however, anything remotely similar to a pony. They had reached the fence that bordered their field and her father had begun to dig into the earth. Gemma had started to cry then, she knew her father would soon begin to lecture her on the importance of Nature and the plants around them as he so often did. It was a rotten way to spend her birthday, she thought. But when her father stopped digging, he pulled out a small object wrapped in very old looking buckskin and her curiosity stopped her tears. Maybe he had hidden a special gift, maybe it was a surprise.

"What is that, Edoda?"

"This is a very important secret, little Papina," he said softly and laid the thing on the ground. Gemma knelt down next to her father and reached her hand towards it, but he gripped her fingers before she could touch it. "No," he squeezed her hand firmly, "you must not touch it. Only when you are old and I am gone will you be given this duty." Gemma wrinkled her nose. _That's no fun_, she thought. Her father let go of her hands, but continued to look at her to make certain she understood. Gemma scooted back a little, away from the thing, and he nodded.

"When I was your age, my father showed this to me. He told me the secret and I learned why it must be kept hidden. Are you paying attention, Gemma?" Her eyes had drifted to a flower bobbing in the wind next to her knee, but at her father's words her eyes snapped up to his and she nodded. "Maybe you are still too young," he said gently, considering her. Gemma did not consider herself a child and did not like when someone else did either. She hated to be left out of things like "adult conversations" and she said hurriedly, "I am not too young, I promise."

Her father smiled then, the lines around his mouth deepening, "Alright, listen closely." He unwrapped the object, drawing the thin buckskin away from what Gemma saw to be a dull white rock. It was bigger than her father's fist, but must not have been very heavy because he picked it up easily in one hand. Leon drew out a bottle of red liquid from his pocket and set it on the ground. "This stone is the Ulunsuti, Papina."

Gemma eyes grew large. She knew the story of the Ulunsuti. Her father told her about how their Cherokee ancestors had fought a large dragon, the Uhktena, and when they had killed it, a magic crystal that held the dragon's powers fell out of its forehead. The warriors had kept the stone and protected it from those that would use the gem for evil, but the stone was said to be very dangerous. "Power can affect even the most pure" her father had told her, but, at the time, she did not really understand what that meant, it was just part of the story. The rock in front of her did not look very magical though. It wasn't shiny or sparkly like she had imagined it would be. She stared at it and thought for a moment. Maybe her father was playing a joke on her. Or maybe the rock was like the tooth fairy, a story her parents made up so they could give her presents without her knowing. The Ulunsuti was just a story after all. It wasn't real. She hesitated to tell her father this though. He looked at the rock as if he believed, as if he was sure it had hidden powers, and Gemma didn't want to disappoint him or make him sad. She thought that if she said she did not believe him he would put the rock back into the hole and would think she was still a child.

Gemma leaned over the stone carefully and said warily, "It does not look like the Ulunsuti, Edoda." Her father chuckled and said, "And thank the spirits for that. When we forget to take care of the stone, then it will look like a magical crystal worthy of any story and we will be in big trouble." He put the stone back onto the buckskin, picked up the bottle of red liquid, and began to unscrew the top of it.

"What's in there?" Gemma asked. "This is sheep's blood," her father replied and Gemma shuddered. "Gross!" Her father chuckled again, "Yes, it is gross, but necessary." He took the stone in his right hand and the open bottle in his left and poured the blood over the stone, turning it over to bathe both sides in red. When it was completely covered and the jar empty, Gemma's arms broke out in goosebumps. The air had an electric feel to it and she watched the stone glow bright, so bright she had to look away. When she looked back at the stone, it was once again a dull white, the blood gone from its surface. "How did you do that?" she asked wondrously.

"I did nothing," her father replied, sounding relieved. "I only fed it as I must do every year. After it's fed, I must tell the stone that it's not needed before I put it away." Gemma could do nothing but stare at the stone as her father said firmly, his eyes on the crystal in his hand, "We will not need you for a very long time."

The static feeling of the air dissipated and Gemma felt a weight fall off of her shoulders, one that she didn't notice was there until it was gone. Her father wrapped the gem with the buckskin and placed it back into its hole, right by the corner post of the fence. "Gemma, you must do this every year. When your mother and I are gone, you must take the stone and keep it on your land, wherever you go. Do you understand?"

Gemma did not understand, not really, but she nodded her head. She knew it was important that she do as her father told her and yet it wasn't until almost a decade later, when she was sixteen years old, that he mentioned it again. "Gemma, when I am gone, what must you do with the Ulunsuti?" he had asked out of nowhere. Gemma had rolled her eyes, "I give it blood and put it back to sleep, Edoda. I remember." And Gemma did remember, but not entirely. She did not remember the glow of the stone or the way the blood soaked into it like a sponge. Perhaps if her father had taken her every year she might have remembered how, in that moment, she truly believed in magic and believed every story her father, and even the myths her mother, had told her were real, were possible. But at sixteen, Gemma only remembered that her father had weird quirks about traditions and "the spirits" and would go out to poor blood over an old rock to appease said spirits, or something like that. She had kept it a secret though. Who would tell someone about their father doing crazy, possibly worrying things involving blood rituals? Not Gemma certainly.

* * *

The ache in Gemma's chest still burned, but another feeling was taking precedence, one of annoyance and vague frustration. She didn't want to deal with this. The sun was beginning to set and her feet hurt so much that she was confused at herself. Why had she not taken them off before now? She shook her head, muttering about her own absent-mindedness, and went over to the duffle bag she had laid by the door. She pulled out a purple flannel shirt, a pair of jeans, fresh socks, and sturdy leather boots. Gemma changed into the clothes and put the dress into the duffel bag on top of the blanket she'd soon bury. She grabbed her father's note from the table and placed it in her back pocket. Looking out at the sky through a window, she decided to hunt for a flashlight, just in case.

She searched in the kitchen, rummaging through the junk drawers and even under the sink. Gemma thought that the garage might be a better place to look so she went through the door that connected it to the kitchen. Rusty hinges gave out a loud screech and it startled her. With one hand over her jumpy heart and another on the light switch, she saw a bright yellow flashlight sitting next to a shovel and a bottle of dark red liquid. _That's convenient_, Gemma thought with a grimace, but decided to grab both items. She might as well do as her father asked, just this once. She would leave the stone here when she sold the house and the land to the reservation. She might even tell Pastor Gordon about the stone incase the next owners happened across it and asked questions.

Gemma went back to the kitchen and put the flashlight and shovel in her duffel bag. She hauled the bag over her head and across her shoulders. With the bottle of blood in her right hand, she opened the back door with her left and shut it behind her, leaving her keys and her purse inside the house. She would grab them when she came back to return the flashlight and shovel to their rightful place. The bottle she would throw away and hopefully never think about again.

She walked hurriedly to the east side of the property. She would douse the stupid rock in blood and bury it forever, relieving herself of the little voice inside her head telling her to fulfill the promise Gemma had made to her father. It did not take her long to reach the fence that bordered the field and she followed it all the way to the end where the corner post sat. Thankfully, the sun had yet to sink all the way down and there was enough light to see with. She unzipped her bag and grabbed the shovel, setting the bottle beside her. She was unsure how close to the post the stone was so she started to dig about a foot away. After a few minutes of digging, she widened her hole, going closer to the post until she barely scraped the buckskin cloth. It wasn't as far down as she thought it should be, but Gemma did not think anything of it. She put the shovel back into her bag and closed the zipper. Brushing away dirt with her hands, she hoped to not come across anything living within the dirt, mainly spiders. After a few minutes of this, she pulled the wrapped stone out of its home and set it on the flat ground off to her side, next to the blood.

Gemma unwrapped the buckskin, but did not pick up the stone. She sat there looking at it, wondering if it looked the same as when she first saw it. It didn't. The Ulunsuti remained a dull white color, but veins of purple could be seen now, streaking across it surface and branching off in different directions. Unsure of what to make of this, she unscrewed the bottle and began to pour the liquid on top of the stone while it remained on the ground. The white color of the crystal soon turned to red, but the purple lines could not be covered by the blood. The stone began to glow. Red and purple filled her eyes and the air surrounding Gemma felt alive, the hair on her neck stood straight. She was consumed with a hurried pulsing feeling and her heart picked up its pace. She wanted to finish this quickly. This was not normal. The stone was supposed to be just a rock her kooky father told her stories about, not something that frightened her. Gemma did not know if she should continue, but, almost as if her hand were guided by an unseen force, she reached towards the stone to flip it over, hoping that once both sides were covered with the offering, the weird rushing sound in her ears would stop, that the static-filled atmosphere would stop brushing against her skin. She only paused for a second, her left hand hovering a few inches above the Ulunsuti, then snatched it up as if expecting it to disappear out of thin air.

When her hand touched the stone, her vison doubled then came back into focus before all she could see was the bright purple light of the stone. It burned the image into her retina so fiercely her one clear thought was that she would never see again, but she could not shut her eyes, she could not look away from the stone. It burnt her hand yet she was gripping it tightly, her fingernails pressing into the stone so hard they cracked. A rush of searing liquid fire shot up her arm and into her chest, burrowing into her heart and she tried to scream, but she could not open her mouth. A torrent of wind swarmed all around her. Gemma was certain she was dying, and for one moment she felt relieved. She felt how easy it would be to just slip out of her body and let the purple fire take her place. She could let go. She could see her mother again, she could see her father—wait. Her father. She had promised her father…something. He wanted her to do…what? She could not remember, could hardly form coherent thoughts in the purple fog that swirled through her head. In the haziness of her mind, Gemma vowed she would fight against whatever was trying to consume her, if only for her father.

She could not feel the ground beneath her, only wind. _Down the rabbit hole_, she thought. And truly, her guess was not too far off. Gemma was no longer on Earth, at least not the Earth she was familiar with. However, Gemma was unaware of anything but the sensations caused by the stone and screaming gusts that seemed to come from nowhere. She felt the fire in her hand and in her heart. She felt the weight of the duffel bag still around her shoulders, banging against her hip in the gales bursting around her body. She could see only the purple light still, but it pulsed in time with her racing heart and soon the winds picked up the rhythm. Gemma floated for what felt like eons, drifting in the pulsating light through time and space. She tried to regain a sense of power over her own body, but it would not answer her demands. She could not move, could not close her eyes, and she wasn't even sure if she could breathe. She tried to count the seconds passing by, but she kept losing the numbers every time she went past one thousand. When she was sure she would age a hundred years before she could reach anything resembling earth again, she felt something firm beneath her feet and, with that, she finally lost consciousness.

...

A gentle breeze ruffled through Gemma's hair and moved the long grass surrounding her still sleeping body in waves that tickled her arms. She was in a field of tall wild flowers and weeds that hid her from curious eyes quite neatly. It was early morning and the sun was a few hours away from rising. If Gemma had been awake, she would have seen the wizard walking through the field, a tall grey hat sitting proudly on top of his greying hair, headed in a straight line that would reach her in matter of seconds. And he did reach her, in fact he stumbled over Gemma's legs awkwardly, nearly falling on top of her. The wizard righted himself quickly and peered at the girl he had tripped on. When he saw that she was asleep, he was very glad for it. Wizards are not prone to clumsiness and he was a tad embarrassed he had not seen her before stepping on her, but he had a troop of reckless dwarves to get back to. One could hardly blame him for being distracted, especially with trolls in the area.

He would have left the girl there, she was only sleeping and in no real danger, had he not seen the bright gem in one of her hands, her fingers clutching it tightly. He looked at her face more carefully then. Did he know her? He did not think so. She did not look familiar at all and that was a hard thing to accomplish, for the traveling wizard knew many, many faces, so many that some had tended to blur together. The girl's skin was a light bronze, not dark enough to be from the Southern Tribes, but much darker than most of mankind in the North. Her nose was straight and distinct, her jawline strong. Nothing about her face could be described as delicate except for the long dark eyelashes that rested against the top of her cheeks. Her clothes were very strange, definitely foreign. The bag wrapped around her was certainly made of curious material, but for every odd thing he noted about the girl, his eyes drew back to the stone she held. It was glowing a soft purple and it looked very much like... But, before he could put his finger on the thought, the girls eyes shot open and she sat up with a large gasp. The odd man had been leaning over her too closely and they bonked heads when she sat up so quickly. He let out a rough grumble of disapproval as she brought her empty hand to rub the spot they had connected so suddenly. "Oh fudge, I feel awful," Gemma rasped.

The tall wizard stood up straight now and replied, "I should suspect so, sleeping on the ground like that without shelter would give anyone a restless night."

Gemma blinked and looked up at him. Why was there a dirty old man in his bathrobe staring at her? Was he trying to rob her? Was he homeless? Where was she? She looked at the flowers around her. Where was the fence that bordered her father's acreage? She scrambled up to her feet, joints ached fiercely, and turned to look in every direction. The field went on for a few miles until it reached a copse of large trees on both sides. Where was her father's house? Where the heck was she?!

She turned to the strange old man again. He had waited patiently for her to get her bearings, but when she looked at him her eyes were glowing the same color of purple that came from the crystal in her hand. "Where the hell am I?" Gemma's voice trembled and her hands shook, well one of them did. She looked down and noticed for the first time since she'd regained consciousness that she still gripped the Ulunsuti tightly in her palm.

"We're in Middle Earth, south of the Ettenmoors and not too far from the Bruinen. But I suspect that means little to you, my dear," the wizard said calmly.

"Middle Earth? You mean like around the Equator? Am I in South America? Who are you?" Gemma breath was quickening, not too far from hyperventilating.

"I do not know what an Equator is or where America is, but my name is Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey."

"You're kidding." She was in the middle of who-knew-where, stuck with some crazy man who read too much Tolkien. She looked down at the stone in her hand once more. It was still glowing, but it did not burn her now. It was warm, but not hot. She could feel the burning in her heart though, although she wouldn't call it a burn now. Instead, her heart felt almost raw, as if it had been scrubbed clean with a wire brush. "I'm dreaming. This is just a dream. I will wake up and my father will still be alive. Or maybe I finally cracked. That's it. His death was too painful and I just went crazy. Yes, yes. I'm crazy and this is a hallucination. Ok. I can deal with that."

"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at rationalization, young lady, but I really must be off and I cannot leave you here," Gandalf said, slightly agitated.

"Oh no, I'll be fine. I'm not hanging with some random stranger who is just as crazy as I am."

"I think you misunderstand, child. I am perfectly sane and I hope for my sake you are as well. I meant rather, that I will not leave you here, with that stone in your possession."

Gemma felt a strange pull in her gut, a determined possessiveness for the stone. She held the stone close to her chest and took a step back from him. "It is mine to keep," her voice grew stronger, rising in volume, "I made a promise and you will not take it from me." Gemma's eyes flashed a bright purple when she glared at him.

"Do you even know what you have in your hands? Where did you come across such an object?" Gandalf questioned.

"It was my father's and it's none of your business."

"The Arkenstone only belongs to one person and I am certain he is not your father."

**A/N:** The story of the Ulunsuti and the Uhktena are legitimate legends passed down from generation to generation. If you'd like to know more, just google Legend of The Tlanuhwa and The Uhktena and you'll find some cool stuff. Cherokee funerals differ upon the tribe and person and sometimes mix with other religious beliefs, but the burial gifts and seven days of mourning is a common occurrence. You should search for the Cherokee Mourning Song on youtube, it's quite lovely. If you want to know what sources I'm using, you can PM me or request I put the links up on my bio. I will obviously be tweaking some parts to fit my story as is my right as a fanfic writer. Yggdrasil is also real, or rather, a real piece of Norse mythology. Please review and let me know if you see any typos or if you have any suggestions on how to improve the story. Also, if you see any inaccuracies about Middle Earth and Tolkien's world, please PLEASE tell me. I've read The Hobbit (and will be making direct references from it later on) and have seen all of the movies, but I've read so much fanfiction on the subject that sometimes those get mingled in with the real facts in my head. No one's perfect. That being said, this story will be combing elements of the book and the movies, because I think both have fantastic qualities that I want to use.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Unanswered Questions**

"Do you even know what you have in your hands? Where did you come across such an object?" Gandalf questioned.

"It was my father's and it's none of your business."

"The Arkenstone only belongs to one person and I am certain he is not your father."

_The Arkenstone?_ Gemma hesitated, holding back a snarky reply. More Tolkien then? Was the man talking in code? "I don't care what you call it," she told him warily, taking another step away from him. If he tried to take the stone, she would run. Gemma glanced behind this self-proclaimed Gandalf, searching the tree line for other people, for any other signs of humanity. She looked back at the wizard, sizing him up. He was tall and he carried a long wooden walking stick, but he seemed weary and didn't look like he could do much to hurt her should he try. Worst case scenario she would kick him in the nuts and then bolt. "The stone is mine."

"Hmm," Gandalf looked at the purple glow of the stone and the matching hue of Gemma's eyes, which were looking from the forest and then back to him. "I think you might be right. In any case, we best be off. You're almost to the Trollshaws and I have a feeling there is more than one nasty thing lurking about in the dark.

"The dark?" Gemma asked, confused, but when she looked up to the sky, she did not see the sun. There was the moon descending and so many stars that she gasped. It was like something she had only seen in pictures. Thousands and thousands of bright spots littered the dark sky, twinkling and creating more constellations than she had time to look for. She could barely draw her eyes away from them. She wanted to lay back in the grass and stare for hours. Such beauty made her think, for just a moment, that she really was in a different world. But she quickly snapped her eyes back to Gandalf as that thought crossed her mind. He was right though, it was dark. However, she could see him perfectly fine, her vision just as clear as if the sun was at its peak. She could see the tree and flowers distinctly, too. _This_, she thought, _is one of the strangest things that's ever happened to me._

"Can…can you see in the dark, too?" she asked him, almost afraid of his answer.

"Well enough to do what needs doing," Gandalf said briskly. And with that, he walked right past her, heading to the trees that were behind her. Gemma felt a sense of relief and she stood there watching him leave until her turned back to look at her, and called out, "There's a house some hours from here. It is the safest place for days in either direction. I will take you part of the way." He swung back to the trees and continued on walking. Gemma had taken at least five steps towards him before she completely questioned herself. If she followed him, he could be luring her somewhere less safe than the field she was in. Did this weirdo have nefarious motives? Or was he telling the truth about the house? Could whomever lived there help her get back home? And if they could help her, would they? She could go the other direction and look for someone else, but then again if she did find someone else, who's to say they would not be a worse sort than the old man? She had lost sight of Gandalf now and she quickened her pace.

When she reached the woods the wizard had disappeared into, she slowed a bit. The trees were thick and her shirt was caught easily on the surrounding branches. She would have lost her way immediately in the dark forest, had it not been for the uncanny fact that she could now see in the dark. _I_ have _always been nocturnal_, she thought and snorted at herself. She refused to question it any further though. It was damn convenient right now and she had bigger problems to focus on. She would worry about possibly being a mutant/superhero later.

Gemma finally saw Gandalf in front of her and he looked back to see if she was following, nodding when he saw that she was catching up quickly. Gemma's joints still ached with an annoying ferocity and she was certain a huge bruise lingered at her hip where her bag, still hanging over her shoulders, had hit her several times during the whatever-it-was-that-happened to bring her to where-ever-she-was-now. "How far did you say the house was?" she asked her traveling companion.

"Almost a day's journey from here, not too far."

"Not too far? You said hours!"

"Yes, it will take us several hours to get there," Gandalf said reasonably. Gemma scoffed and missed the quick upward twitch his lips made before his face relaxed into his calm, fragile façade once more. A whole day? She'd never walked that far in one trip before. Looking down at her feet, she sent out a quick "thank you" to whomever was listening that she had changed out of the pinching dress shoes she'd worn to her father's funeral.

And there was the ache in her stomach again. Would it always be like this? A memory and then a kick to the gut? She did not remember how long it was after her mother died that Gemma was able to think about her without feeling pain. She always missed her, always longed for her, but she could remember the happy times, too. Now that both of her parents were dead though, would she live long enough to see the ache fade into nostalgia? She didn't know and only time could tell. Time seemed to always be relative, though.

Like right now, for instance. How long had they been walking? "Do you know what time it is?"

"The sun will rise very soon."

Sunrise, okay. So that meant around five, six in the morning? How long had she been unconscious for? Assuming that her father's funeral had only been yesterday, that meant about ten hours. Had it taken her ten hours to get here, or had she been asleep for ten hours? It certainly did not feel as if she had been sleeping that long. If she happened upon a bed right now, nestled amongst the trees, Gemma would drop into it without hesitation. Her eyes felt dry, like she hadn't slept in days. It reminded her vaguely of her time in college and so she assumed it had taken her ten hours to get to this so-called "Middle Earth" and had been unconsciousness for only a little while. She hoped that was true and shuddered. Who knows what would have happened had she actually laid in that random field for so long.

Before she could scare herself with the many awful scenarios forming in her mind, most containing spiders, she heard a deep craggy voice not too far away. Gandalf grabbed her arm, stopping her from going further. She looked at him and he made a shushing motion, crouching down to go around a low hanging branch. He moved slowly, so Gemma did the same. After going around the tree, she saw a light some fifty feet in front of them. She had stopped at that, but Gandalf still had a hold of her and he tugged her arm gently before letting go. They crept closer to what she now saw was a fire and three large shadows hovering around it, making all sorts of awful racket. It was a wonder they hadn't heard them before now. It took a moment for Gemma to notice the putrid stench that slowly made its way to the pair of them. When she did, though, she had to hold back the urge to vomit. "Ugh, what is that _retched_ smell?" she whispered in Gandalf's direction. He turned from the fire to look at her, his eyes were wide, shining a bright blue, "Trolls," he replied quietly, drawing out the "o" in emphasized warning. Gemma didn't quite understand his underlying message though. She tried to make out the hulking figures, but the fire cast shadows so fiercely she could only see large lumpy silhouettes. Gandalf continued to creep nearer to the loud group of rumbling voices, slowly and completely without sound. If Gemma had not been so overwhelmed with the task of keeping down the bile in her stomach, she might have wondered at the mysterious way Gandalf achieved this.

They had stopped behind a tall boulder that Gandalf could peek over, but Gemma couldn't see anything; she was too short. "Trolls?" she asked in a faint breath, "what do you mean?" They were tall, taller than any person she'd ever seen, that much Gemma knew from the size of their shadows, and stunk to high heaven. Gandalf did not reply however. He continued to watch what was happening over the large rock they were hidden behind. Gemma was wary, taking cue from Gandalf's actions, but she wanted to see what had him so spooked. She knelt on the ground and tried to peer around the boulder. There was a dense, leafy bush in her way so she parted its branches. One gave way with a loud snap! Gemma froze hoping it had gone unnoticed.

It hadn't though. She felt the ground tremble under her and before she could move, a large hand grabbed her about the middle and pulled her from her hiding place. She blinked and her eyes felt as if someone had thrown a curtain over them. She could see only shadows now. Her super convenient night vision had stopped working and Gemma's poor stomach gave another lurch. She was not a fan of roller coasters and the swinging motion with which the thing hauled her up was, funnily enough, quite similar to one. The large hand squeezed her too tightly and she could not gain enough breath to scream with.

"I thought I smelled somefin female," the hulking thing carrying her grumbled in a nasally voice. It took lumbering steps away from the boulder, each one jarring Gemma inside the giant hand wrapped around her waist. They reached the fire now and she saw that the large shadows had, in fact, been trolls. There really was no other word for them. There were two sitting by the fire, one stirring a giant pot full of boiling liquid. They were terribly ugly; wrinkled, grey creatures that looked like pieces of a mountain come to life. And they were gigantic, larger than any animal she had ever seen. Surely they were animals, no human could ever become something that huge or that horrid. Were they some sort of genetic experiment? A crossbreed, or something, gone awfully wrong? This was like some terrifying King Kong nightmare. Had Gemma's first guess been right earlier? Had she truly gone mad?

The hand that held her far above the ground tossed her onto a mound of wriggling burlap sacks. The stench surrounding the group had reached way past Gemma's level of tolerance and the smell mixed with pure terror in her gut. Acid filling her throat, she rolled off the squirming pile to heave up what little was in her stomach.

"That was close," one of the sacks said near her face, "thanks for getting off of me first, lass." Gemma shrieked when she saw that there was a head sticking out of the burlap sack covered in shadows that moved with the fire. It had a funny beard and wore a floppy hat that seemed about to fall off his head.

"I—I…" she stuttered.

"Did that come out ya hooter, too?" The largest troll said, in a condescending tone, to the one that brought her to their pit. All three trolls had come closer to Gemma, who was still hunched over on the ground. The one that had nabbed her blew into a handkerchief, trumpeting into a nasty cloth that was as long as Gemma was tall.

"Nah, Tom, I found it hiding in a bush."

"I like females," the third troll said, and gave Gemma a rough poke that shoved her into the ground. "Much softer than dwarves for sure. Easier on my teef."

"How do you think she'll taste with sage?" the sickly troll asked.

The troll named Tom grabbed her by the legs and brought her up to his face. While he peered at her, Gemma got a good upside-down look at him, something she was not thankful for in the least. This one had rotted yellow teeth and dark dangerous eyes. A rough patch of hair tried to spread itself across the trolls chin, but it was so mangled and filled with disgusting things that it was only mildly successful. "I think we should boil her first. Stick 'er in the pot with the fat one and make a nice stew," Tom suggested.

"Well 'urry up, we ain't got all night. Dawn ain't far away."

The nasally troll looked down at the writhing pile, "Maybe we could boil 'em all?"

One of them replied, "We save the rest for later. Let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone." At that, the nasally one picked up the biggest sack and handed him to Tom. The big sack gave a muffled yelp that died when Tom squeezed it with his meaty paw. Gemma in one hand, and the sack in the other, Tom began to trudge towards the boiling pot when a small voice shouted, "Wait!"

Tom swung back around, both of his burdens swinging violently with the motions and Gemma gave out a moan. She was getting terribly dizzy. In her fear, it was hard to think of a way out of her certifiably-insane situation and, with the blood rushing to her head, she was helpless.

"You are making a _terrible_ mistake," the voice called again. It was a small child, Gemma saw, wrangled in one of the sacks, hopping towards them.

"You can't reason with them," another sack said. "They're half-wits!"

The bearded man with the hat said, "Half-wits? What does that make us?"

Had Gemma been upright she would have kicked him. They were about to be eaten! This was no time for joking!

"I meant with the, uh…with the seasoning," the small hopping thing continued.

Tom halted, "What about the seasoning?"

"Uhm, well have you smelt them? You'll need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up."

The pile of sacks started to voice their outrage at his comment and the largest troll asked, "What do you know about cooking dwarf?"

Tom interrupted him, "Shut up. Let the, uh, flurgabuburhobbit talk."

"The what?" Gemma squeaked, but Tom gave her a rough shake.

"Alright. The secret to cooking dwarf is, umm…"

"Yes," Tom said, "go on."

The small thing stuttered, "I-it's, uh—"

"Tell us the secret," cried the nasally troll, before he blew his nose again into his increasingly dirty handkerchief.

"Yes, I'm telling you. The secret is…to…skin them first!" the tiny sacked thing yelled, as if excited. The disgruntled cries from the struggling pile behind him picked up, clamoring into a loud din.

"Bert, get me fileting knife," Tom demanded. The sacked thing held besides Gemma said, "I won't forget that!" Gemma turned her head to look in the direction of the sack that now issued a string of threats towards the person that was coming up with cooking ideas. There, just off to the side in the trees, she saw a familiar-looking shadow move.

"Eh, nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!" Bert argued and snatched the big sack from Tom. The troll tilted his head back and held the sack over his gaping maw, "Nice and crunchy."

Gemma couldn't stop herself from yelling, "Stop! Not that one!"

Bert paused and looked at her, sneering. Still hanging upside-down, she said, "Uhm, I think it's infected.

Tom shook her and Bert said, "You wot?"

The small be-sacked thing on the ground picked up her plan, "That's right! She's right! He's got worms in his…tubes."

Bert gave a disgusted moan and threw the big sack into the pile. When he landed, the other sacks let out muffled groans at the weight of it.

"In fact, they're all infested with parasites. It's a terrible business," the little childlike being gave a pitying shake of his head at the thought. "I wouldn't risk it. I really wouldn't."

Gemma heard a few voices from the mound of sacks cry out, "We don't have parasites! You have parasites!" She wished she could tell them to shut up. How could they be so dense?

Tom stepped closer to the small thing that was trying to talk their way out of this disaster and said, "Do you think I don't know what you're up to?" The troll gave him a hefty poke.

Another troll grabbed the tiny thing and his small face was thrown into relief by the light of the fire. It was not a child, but rather a grown man! His face was lined and mature, but he was so tiny! "This little ferret is taking us for fools?"

"Ferret?" the tiny man protested.

"THE DAWN WILL TAKE YOU ALL!" cried a powerful voice and the trolls all turned to look at Gandalf standing on a boulder, his walking stick held above his head.

"Who's that?" asked Bert.

"No idea," answered Tom and Gandalf swung his stick down towards the boulder, piercing it in half.

Sunlight, glorious, beautiful rays of sunlight, flooded into the pit and the trolls let out booming shrieks of pain. Their skin sizzled in the light and quickly turned into stone. If Gemma would have blinked, she would have missed it, but she saw the whole thing and she still couldn't believe it. The pile of sacks gave out shouts of relief and laughed at their near-death experience. The hand around her feet was still gripping her tightly when it became a solid structure and she squirmed, trying to free herself. She was so focused on trying to reach her feet, trying to yank them out of the now immovable troll, that she did not notice all of the once-sacked things on the ground free themselves from their burlap confinements. They had helped the poor tiny man down from the statue that was once Bert, with the help of Gandalf, and were now congregating under Gemma as she continued to struggle.

One of them cleared his throat. Gemma stopped, stretching up towards her feet, letting out a huff of air as she swung in the stone-trolls grasp. Even though she was still upside-down, she could see that there was a group of dirty, hairy men watching her attempt at freedom. Some had amused looks on their faces, others curiosity, and one or two wore stern glares. "Uh, hello."

One of the men let out a small chuckle, "We should help her down."

"Aye, I agree," another said, this one had a long white beard, "she's just a little thing."

Gemma would have been insulted. She could be scrappy when necessary, but she was dizzy and exhausted. "Please. My head is killing me and I can't feel my toes anymore," she said. "I would really appreciate your help."

The man with the funny hat started towards her, but the glaring one said firmly, "No. We don't even know who she is. She could be a spy."

"What?!" Gemma shouted down at him, "I have no idea where I am or who you are and I could really care less! Please, just help me down."

The stern-faced man continued to glare at her, but another man besides him asked in a curious voice, "What's your name miss?"

Gemma huffed again. She would much rather answer questions when she was right side up. "My name is Gemma Halvard. Does that satisfy you?" she asked, frustrated, "will you help me now?"

Gandalf walked towards her and brought his walking stick down in a swift crack! That broke the stone arm holding her. Gemma let out a yelp as she fell to the ground, the rest of the stone encasing her feet breaking on impact. "Son of a bitch! A little warning would be nice next time," she growled, lying flat on the ground. She sat up and rubbed her aching back.

"We don't even know where she came from, Gandalf," the glaring one said suspiciously.

"Neither do I, but you might be more interested in what she has in her possession," he replied, his head tilted towards Gemma where she was still on the ground, cataloguing her aches and pains, murmuring about rude hairy men.

The man that had laughed at her earlier walked to where she was sitting and held a hand out for her, "Need a little help?"

Gemma grabbed his hand and muttered, "Now you help me." He hauled her to her feet and she said, "Thank you, uhm…"

"Fili, at your service," he said with a bow. Now that she was standing she noticed how short he was. He had long blond hair the same shade as his beard that was braiding intricately on both sides of his face.

Gemma stepped back. "Uh, right back at ya."

Another man, even shorter than Fili, laughed at that and shoved Fili aside good-naturedly, stepping up in front of her. He was blonde as well, but had barely any hair on his face, just a tad bit of blonde scruff. He bowed as well and said, "I am Kili, at your service."

Gemma had to hold back a giggle. _Fili and Kili?_ she thought, _what kind of names are those?_ They both looked very similar. They must be brothers, she decided. They wore long dirty leather coats over some sort of tunic and brown leggings she guessed were made of wool.

Before any more of the group could introduce themselves, the tallest of the group, the one who had not relinquished his glare this whole time, looked at the pair "Alright enough. Go and grab the rest of our gear." He then looked at Gemma, glaring more fiercely, if that was possible, and demanded, "Now tell us where you came from and what you have that Gandalf thinks is so important."

Gemma put her hands on her hips, "I don't have to tell you anything. It's none of your business." The man was being so rude and she was so tired. She had little strength left for niceties.

"This will go more smoothly if you show him the stone, Miss Halvard," Gandalf said gently, not really sure if his words were true.

Her eyes went wide and she looked down at her hands, realizing for the first time that she was missing something. Gemma looked down on the ground, searching in circles around her feet. She must have dropped it, but where? Was it when the troll had tossed her none-so-gently into the pile of men in front of her? Or was it before that? Yes! She must have dropped it when that stupid troll had found her behind the boulder.

Gemma swung around and ran into the trees, hearing, but not caring about, the shouts behind her. She had almost found the right rock when a firm hand grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly.

"Where do you think you are going?" a deep voice said snidely. She turned to him and gave the stupid glare-er a ferocious glare of her own.

She yanked her arm out his grip. "I dropped my things over there," she pointed at the big rock that she and Gandalf had hidden behind before the trolls came. "I'm going to get them," she said, daring him to stop her. He didn't, but he followed her to the rock and watched her pull back the branches of several bushes.

Gemma found her bag wrapped stubbornly around a branch in the first bush she went to, but she had yet to find the stone. After several minutes of looking, she glared at the man who was just standing there, hovering so insolently. "You could help me look, you know?"

The man let out a sigh, "How am I supposed to know what you are looking for?"

Before Gemma could describe it to him, however, she spotted it in the tangles of weeds not two feet away from him. "Aha!" Gemma scrambled towards it and bent down on her knees to grab it, but paused when she noticed it was no longer glowing. "Huh," she muttered.

The man came up behind her and looked at the dull gem on the ground next to her. "What is that?" he questioned. Gemma didn't answer him. She was still wondering why it had stopped glowing. She was actually sort of relieved. It was one less thing to worry about; one less question she would need an answer for.

The rest of the troop had now caught up with them, including Gandalf, who made his way to stand by Gemma. He, too, looked down at the stone. "That," he remarked, "is very strange."

The small, child-sized man peeked around Gandalf's legs. "What are we looking at?"

Gemma looked up to answer him. He was so much friendlier than the glaring man and he had caught on to Gemma's plan with the trolls very quickly. Though, now she noticed that he had on a cloak where he didn't before. The rest of them, too, had bags and weapons all attached to their bodies in one way or another. Surely she would not have missed something so…so medieval before. The sharp blades some of them carried made her nervous. Gemma tried to convince herself that perhaps they were woodsmen, or trappers and hunters. That would make sense right? But when had anything about this place made any sort of sense so far?

Gemma swallowed thickly. She was just going to grab the stone and walk away, something she should have done in the first place. Why had she followed Gandalf into the forest? She picked up the stone and heard a collection of gasps and a few swears. The glaring man whispered, almost reverently, "By Mahal, it's the Arkenstone."

Gemma clutched the now glowing crystal to her chest with both hands. Something inside her felt whole again, like she had lost an essential part of herself and had finally found it. Her body ached a little less and she felt marginally less tired. She thought it was all an overwhelming sense of relief at not having lost her last connection to her father and tears formed in her eyes. Gandalf put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. When her eyes met his, Gandalf's brow rose several inches. Gemma's eyes, unbeknownst to her, were glowing a distinct powerful purple again, the same shade as the stone in her hands.

"Very strange indeed," Gandalf said.

**A/N: **First, I want to say thank you to the people that favorited, followed, and reviewed my story. It's sickeningly ridiculous how often I checked (and continue to do so) my email for updates on who's faved/followed/reviewed. I so desperately want this story to be good. I love the characters so much and I really want to do them justice. It truly warmed my heart to get those updates. To me, they're little encouraging whispers that suggest perhaps my writing is not total shit. Please let me know if you see any mistakes or if you have suggestions!

Special shout out goes to my dear friends: **Porpisha**, who is basically my beta (let it be known that all mistakes are my mine), the lovely Christina (who "doesn't really read fanfiction," but is still so willing to let me bounce ideas off of her brilliant mind), and my Beasley Bunny.

Most of the conversation between the trolls and the tiny man (who is Bilbo, if you haven't figured it out yet) is taken directly from the movie which I don't own.

Thanks for reading, you precious peaches.

-KM


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three: Home is behind.**

Thorin was not having a particularly good day and, while it was not even close to the worst day of his life, it did make the top fifty worst, at least. They had ridden all day, stopping near a collapsing farm house once night fell. He was tired, not that he'd ever show it, and angry that Gandalf had wanted to move on. The little valley they had started to settle into had seemed as safe as any other place along the road, until his nephews had lost the horses that is. If they had come to him first, they might have solved their troll problem a little easier, but of course the pair had weaseled Bilbo into attempting a rescue mission. Trolls were not something to take lightly, but they had risked the hobbit's life so easily. He was furious when he found Kili trying to convince the three behemoths to let Bilbo go. Kili was too reckless; he didn't understand that he was not invincible. Thorin should not have let him come with them on their journey. The hobbit, too, should not have come. The trolls had scooped him up like a child. Had the dwarves not laid down their arms, Bilbo would have been dead meat, literally. Then they were all trussed up like some common animal, about to be slaughtered for a troll's supper. It was horrifying and undignified. Thorin was furious at the whole situation.

Now the girl had been thrust into their group like some sort of ill-omened sprite. When the troll had snatched her up to be eaten first, along with Bombur, Thorin's stomach dropped. He didn't even know her name, but he felt guilty he could do nothing to help her. Women were seldom found amongst dwarves. Male dwarves outnumbered the females of their race by five to one. Those kind of odds meant dwarrowdams were to be protected, treasured. With this mindset instilled into Thorin since childhood, he hated to see any female injured, regardless of race. As a king, it was his duty to protect those that could not fend for themselves and, in Thorin's mind, women were placed into that category.

The dwarves had been mightily thankful when Gandalf had arrived in the nick of time, something the wizard excelled at, to rescue them from the trolls. Thorin was relieved that they would not be killed so unjustly and without honor, but now another burden was forced upon him. What were they to do with the strangely dressed girl hanging upside-down, trapped within a death grip? Would they commission another stranger into their retinue? Would she be another burden foisted onto Thorin? She could be trouble. She could be a spy or she could have people looking for her, endangering the secrecy of their quest if they found her with Thorin and his company. She was an uncertainty, so of course Gandalf had to free her from the troll's stone hand. Also, she was apparently in possession of a mysterious object. _What did that have to do with anything,_ he had wondered, but Gandalf must have had a reason for mentioning it.

When the girl, Gemma Halvard she'd called herself, had run off into the trees, Thorin had been confident then that she was a spy. For whom he did not know, but why else would she flee? He had only felt mildly guilty for judging her so harshly when he saw it was merely her belongings she was after, but he was unhappy at the time she spent searching for her things. It was when she had pointed towards a stone near his feet that Thorin finally became invested in the girl's goal. The thing on the ground had not looked familiar. As a dwarf and as someone who had dwelt inside of mountains his whole life, he was well versed in geology. He had probably seen every type of rock, stone, gem, or crystal Middle Earth had to offer at some point in his long life, but the object the girl had pointed to did not look like any sort he had ever seen. It was a dull white, almost like quartz, except for the purple veins that spread throughout the stone. It wasn't terribly large, a bit bigger than his fist perhaps, and it was spherical and smooth as if someone had polished it lovingly for years. Quartz was not easily manipulated, not into some so round; it had a tendency to fragment and break off. No, Thorin could not say what kind of earthen matter it was.

That is until the strange, disheveled girl held the gem within her hands. It was almost as if the thing transformed before his eyes. It instantly began to glow a bright blueish purple and Thorin knew immediately what it was. He swore, "By Mahal, it's the Arkenstone." He'd last seen it falling from his grandfather's fingers when Smaug, that cursed worm, had seized Erebor, had stolen everything of worth that was held within. Thorin was stunned. This girl, who was she truly? How had she come by the Arkenstone? He sank to his knees beside her, unperturbed by the mud soaking into his trousers. It had fallen to him to find it. His father had left him the key to the mountain so that Thorin might one day reclaim Erebor, to take back the Arkenstone, uniting all dwarves under the line of Durin, the line of his ancestors, once more. Thorin had wished for the Arkenstone for over a hundred years, had dreamt of obtaining the jewel countless times, and suddenly this random woman falls into his lap, as if presenting it to him on a silver platter. She held it close to her heart and all Thorin could do was stare at it. Then she had looked at him, her gaze drawing his upwards. He was shocked to see the same distinct glow of the Arkenstone lingering in her bright eyes. Surely they had not been that way before, he would have noticed something so otherworldly. What matter of being was this person in front of him? Just who was Gemma Halvard?

* * *

"Very strange indeed," Gandalf said.

Gemma wiped away the tears that had escaped her eyes at the thought of her father. As strange as the stone and its weird glowing tendencies, it was more familiar to her than anything else in this distinctly foreign place. Even the tree and plants surrounding her did not look like any she could name. It set her off balance. She tried to ignore her surroundings as best she could. When she reached home, she could forget all about this hostile place along with its giant hungry trolls.

The glaring man had kneeled beside her after she picked up the Ulunsuti. He could feel him staring at her stone so she looked at him, prepared to give him another fierce glare of her own, but when she saw his face, Gemma hesitated. He looked at the stone as if he was seeing water for the first time after spending months in a desert, as if seeing his salvation in the palm of her hands. She had never seen such earnest hope in someone's face before. It would not have surprised her had the bearded man burst into song or tears with such relief and joy shining through his piercing blue eyes. Gemma felt her frustration at her situation ebb a bit. She was still confused and concerned, certainly, yet she could not feel complete anger at the lack of this man's manners like she had before she saw his wondrous expression.

Gemma sat there, watching him watch her when the small, childlike man spoke up again, "Gandalf, what's going on?" And though Gandalf had many suspicions, he replied, "I am uncertain, my friend." He took his hand from Gemma's shoulder, leaving her a bit bereft. His hand had steadied her, calmed her when the stone began to glow once she picked it up. She wanted to worry about that, the glowing stone; she wanted a lot of things at the moment. She wanted to know where she was, who these men were, how she had gotten to this strange place, what the state of her sanity was, and most of all she wanted to sleep. She still did not trust Gandalf completely, but his comforting hand had been nice. He was less of a stranger to her than the rest of the armed men at least.

The short man with the white, curling beard stepped tentatively closer to her. "Lass, where did you get that?" At his words another man, this one bald, with tattoos on his head and hulking muscles, strode up from the back of the group, bending down to grab Gemma by the front of her shirt. He lifted her up from her kneeling position until she could barely touch the ground with the tip of her toes. She dropped the stone and latched onto the arms holding her. His grip pulled her shirt taut. She let out a sharp cry of pain. Bruises from where the troll had snatched her up ached and her joints protested the rush of movement. The man's face was too close to hers and she tried to push him away. "Where did you get the stone?!" he yelled at her, spittle flying from his lips onto her face. She turned her face away in fear and disgust. The white-bearded man said, "Brother, put the girl down!" But the muscled man just shook her violently, her head snapping backward.

The blue-eyed man remained on his knees, looking down; his eyes had followed the stone when it left her grip, although he had yet to pick it up himself. When Gemma whimpered in pain, his eyes snapped up to see her struggling to free herself. "Dwalin!" he bellowed, "Release the girl." The big man did so and she fell to the ground. Gemma scrambled backwards, away from him. She was breathing hard, terrified. She was more afraid of the muscled man with a giant hammer strapped to his back than of the trolls that had been five times her size.

The short man with the white beard pushed his brother out of the way, putting himself between Gemma and the hulking figure. At his movement, Gemma scooting further until her back hit a tree and she sat there, her eyes flickering to the man on the ground next to the stone then to the muscled man and then to the white-bearded man. She felt dizzy, quickly becoming light-headed. She realized she was breathing too fast and tried to slow her breaths, but she was just so scared. She had nothing to defend herself with, she was outnumbered by these men and their weapons by far.

Thorin saw the girl hyperventilating and shaking, her back against a tree. "Stand down," he commanded and all of the men took several steps backward, away from Gemma. Thorin stood up slowly, seeing the girl watch his movements like a cornered mouse watched a hawk. The small childlike man wrinkled his nose then bent down to pick up the stone. "Bilbo, I wouldn't—," Gandalf tried to warn him, but Bilbo did not hesitate at Gandalf's words now that the stone had stopped glowing. Bilbo was curious to see if it would glow when he himself held it. He picked the crystal up; it felt cold and abnormally heavy in his hands. It remained a dull white and though it didn't hurt him, per say, it made him feel very small, very insignificant, like a blanket of gloomy shadows had covered his thoughts. He felt sure he would never see his precious armchair or anything in his beautiful hobbit hole again. "I do not like it," Bilbo said. "I do not like this feeling at all," and he held it out, willing Thorin to take it from him

Thorin took the stone from Bilbo. It was cold in his hands, too, and it still did not shine with its purple glow, but he didn't feel small or sad. He did not really feel much of anything from the stone. He felt no different than when he had stood there watching Bilbo hold it. It no longer looked like the Arkenstone, but he was sure that it must be the King's Jewel. When the girl had held it, it looked exactly like the gem that had rested above his grandfather's throne for years. If it was not the Arkenstone, then it was at least connected to it somehow. He had many questions for this Gemma Halvard, but he decided to wait for her to regain her senses first.

Thorin looked at Gandalf, who had been watching the interaction between Thorin and the dormant stone, and asked, "Where did you go may I ask?"

"To look ahead," Gandalf replied gruffly.

"What brought you back?"

The wizard smirked, "Looking behind."

At this Thorin nodded. "And when did you come across her?" Thorin pointed at the girl still huddled against the tree.

The wizard shifted his grip on his staff. "Not far from here. She was asleep in a field, the Arkenstone clutched in her hands," Gandalf paused and, looking at Gemma, continued, "Thorin, she is important. The Valar act in strange ways. We must have found her for a reason." Gandalf looked back towards the pit where one of the troll's stone head could be seen peeking out over the trees. "Trolls are a nasty business. Still, they're all in one piece."

Thorin's brow furrowed, "No thanks to your burglar."

Gandalf turned his head towards Bilbo, who had started towards the poor, shaken girl. "He had the sense to play for time, he and the girl. None of the rest of you thought of that."

Thorin held Gandalf's gaze, unabashed, "They must have come down from the Ettenmoors. Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?"

"Not for an age," Gandalf shook his head, concerned, "not since a darker power ruled these lands." A sense of foreboding came over Thorin and Gandalf went on to say, "They could not have moved in daylight."

"There must be a cave nearby, but first," he nodded his head towards Gemma, "we need to find out what she knows."

"Agreed."

While Thorin and Gandalf were consulting about the trolls, Bilbo had walked towards Gemma. He thought it was awfully rude and uncalled for the way Dwalin had treated her. She had not done anything untoward. She had even helped them with the trolls a little. Perhaps she had even saved Bombur from being eaten; that should be commended at the very least. He did not know why the dwarves were so fascinated with the gem she had held, even if it did look very pretty and worth quite a fortune. Either way, it was not a worthy excuse to have handled the poor girl so roughly.

Gemma watched the small man approach her. He couldn't have been taller than three feet and he wore a red velvet cloak that looked well made, but very dirty. His hair was a curly brown and his mouth was downturned. She didn't get the sense that he would hurt her, but Gemma was certain that out of all of these strange people she could take _him_ down should he try.

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked.

Gemma sniffed, still quite afraid of the rest of the short men, but sensed that this even smaller man might be an ally. "Not really, no."

"I would offer you a handkerchief if I had one, but I left home without it. The call of adventure will do that to you I suppose," he remarked with a thoughtful tone, putting his hands in his tiny pockets. He gave her a friendly smile.

Gemma did not know what to say to that so Bilbo went on, "My name is Bilbo Baggins. You said your name was Miss Halvard, correct?"

Gemma seemed to come back to herself a little. "Bilbo Baggins?" She blinked twice. "Bilbo?"

The hobbit wrinkled his nose like a little rabbit, "Umm, yes?"

Gemma stood up now, pulling herself up with the tree behind her. "Bilbo, the hobbit? The one who found the ring?" Her voice was rising in pitch, sounding incredulous, "THE ring? And then gave it to Frodo?"

"The what?" Bilbo asked, "To who?"

"Wait. Wait." She held out a hand as if to stop him, from what Bilbo was unsure.

"No. Nu-uh." Gemma shook her head in protest, but of what Bilbo didn't know.

"And Gandalf. He's a wizard. That fucking wizard." Poor confused Bilbo was taken aback by her language. He'd been forced to listen to uncouth words from the company during the last month, but was surprised to hear such things from a lady.

Gemma put a hand on her forehead, "Where am I?"

One of the small men that had not been with the group when they followed Gemma jogged up to them men, stopping Gemma's mad rant, and said loudly, "Thorin! We've found a troll-hoard!"

"Thorin?" Gemma repeated loudly and the man that had glared at her earlier, the one with the blue eyes, turned towards her, one eyebrow raised in question. "You're Thorin?" she squeaked. He nodded once, slowly. "You're Thorin." Gemma pointed at the smallest man, "He's Bilbo Baggins? From the Shire?" Bilbo tensed. He had not told her about the Shire. "And he's Gandalf the Grey. A wizard." She paused. They whole group was watching her now. She counted them. There was thirteen hairy men, or were they men? She looked at Bilbo, pointing to the bearded men, "And they're dwarves?"

Bilbo nodded, more confused now. Could she not tell that they were dwarves? Bilbo had thought it was pretty obvious.

Ok, thirteen dwarves, ugh, of course it would be thirteen. _Stupid odd numbers_, she thought. And there was Bilbo and Gandalf.

"You said that was the Arkenstone?" She pointed at the gem in Thorin's hand.

"Yes." Thorin said, bemused.

Gemma swore loudly and the dwarf that had found the troll-hoard chuckled at her. It was Kili, the one who'd introduced himself before. She blinked for several moments, none of them saying anything, as if giving her time to sort herself out.

Gemma knew now. She knew with utter certainty. Her mother, her dear book-obsessed mother, had read The Hobbit to Gemma when she was a child. The story was coming back to her in frantic flashes of memory. There was a hobbit and some dwarves and THE dwarf and a helpful wizard. There had been elves and goblins and a dragon and trolls, three trolls. "Trolls!" she shouted. Bilbo jumped, startled at her sudden outburst. Gemma began to pace, her feet walking to the group of men then back to the tree. She was no longer afraid. She was having an epiphany. "Oh my word. Trolls. _Three _trolls! Those trolls and Bilbo…and I. Oh no. Oh no. I'm right at the beginning. We're right at the beginning."

Gemma stopped, whirling around to Thorin to point at him, "You. You—I…I know how this ends. Oh sweet baby Jesus. Oh holy fuck. This can't be real. This isn't happening."

Gandalf, who'd been observing Gemma's meltdown with a thoughtful glint in his eye, said, "I assure you, Miss Halvard. This is very real. Now, why don't we—"

"No!" yelled Gemma. "No. Gandalf, you don't understand. I know. I _know_. You're Mithrandir, the wandering wizard. One of five meant to guard Middle Earth or something. _Five_!" Bilbo jumped again and Gemma muttered, "Why does it always have to be an odd number?"

She focused on Gandalf again, "There's you, and Saruman, and… Oh whoa, he—wait, that hasn't happened yet. Ok, you have a ring, I don't remember what it's called, but it has fire powers or something. Does it start with an 'n' or a 'v,' I can't recall precisely." Gandalf's shoulders stiffened and he drew himself up. "See?" said Gemma. "Don't you get it? I'm not supposed to be here! This isn't supposed to happen."

Gandalf peered into her eyes. "What exactly do you know?"

Gemma shuddered and looked at Thorin sadly. "Everything," she told him. "I know everything."

Gandalf looked at Thorin who shrugged. Thorin thought the girl might be a little unhinged, but Gandalf looked at him worriedly.

"Well, maybe not _everything_. The details are kind of rusty, but I remember the big stuff, like at the end, with the drago—"

"That is quite enough," Gandalf stopped her suddenly. Gemma took a deep breath. Maybe she'd gone too far. Knowing one's destiny is dangerous; many stories had taught her that. She could ruin everything. Or she could _fix_ everything…She bit her lip. How much should she tell them? _Could_ she tell them anything? She might make things worse. And yet, she might make things better. Or maybe nothing would change, she might not make it very far in this world before she could make a difference. Middle Earth was a dangerous place. She'd already been kidnapped, almost eaten by trolls, and she was pretty sure the overly-muscled dwarf could kill her easily. She tried to sneak at glance of him out of the corner of her eye. Which dwarf was he? Bifur, Bofur? Sneezy, Dopey? Grumpy, she decided, definitely Grumpy. She let out a small laugh. Why was she even concerning herself with any of it? She should go home. Gandalf was a wizard, the real McCoy. He had magic. He could send her home. Honestly, what couldn't he do? Should she ask him for something else before she left? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but what does one actually ask for from a wizard? She didn't need a brain, or a heart, or courage. She laughed again. _I've a feeling I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto_, she thought, _but it would be so much easier if I was._

Gandalf was unsure how to proceed. Thorin ceased to stare at Gemma and had walked over to Kili, who had retrieved Thorin's weapons for him. Thorin was still holding the Arkenstone. Only when Gemma laughed at herself did Thorin look her way with a strange look on his face. The rest of the dwarves had taken to conversing amongst themselves; some pointing at Gemma and arguing, others just watching them argue while they smoked from long pipes. Bilbo was standing next to Gandalf, waiting to see what the wizard would do.

"Gandalf," Gemma started softly. The dwarves were getting rather loud with their argument so Gandalf stepped closer to hear her better. "Do you know how to…would you be able t-to bring someone back from the dead?" Gemma's voice was very small now and she fiddled with her thumb. She went on, "I don't know anything about magic, not real magic, but if you can, will you bring my father back?"

Gandalf tilted his head and noticed that, without the stone her eyes were a gentle green. He looked at her almost pityingly so she hurriedly continued, "He's only been dead a few days," her voice broke, "so that should make it easier, right?"

Gandalf bent down so that his gaze was level with hers. "My dear, only the Valar can send someone back to Arda after they have reached the Hall of Mandos. If it is the will of the Valar, you will see your father again, but not in this realm." Gandalf put his hand on Gemma's shoulder and she let out a shaky breath. "I am sorry, little one," and Gandalf truly was remorseful. It was not the first time he saw the cruel echo of pain left by mortality.

"Will you send me home then?" Gemma asked.

"That, I think, will be possible. Most doors open from both sides. Let us hope you did not fall out of a window," Gandalf told her mystically.

"So that's a yes, then?"

"You should be able to return the same way you left. What brought you to Middle Earth, Gemma Halvard? For I know you are not of this world."

Gemma hesitated to answer. It must have been the stone that had transported her here, but the Ulunsuti was not supposed to be real. She could only handle so many realizations today. Middle Earth was a real place, or at least real right now? How did this work? If The Hobbit was real, did that make her father's Cherokee legends real? Or her mother's Norse mythology? When did it end? How was she to make heads or tails out of the plethora of stories in her brain?

"I think it might have been the Ulunsuti," Gemma finally replied. "That's really the only logical explanation I have, unless an illogical answer is required and I really hope that is not the case. That's too close much like some Lewis Carroll crap for me."

"Ulun what?" Bilbo enquired. He had been hovering near the two, not really eavesdropping, but his hearing was quite good.

"U-lun-su-ti," said Gemma drawing out the syllables. "It's the stone I brought with me, or rather, maybe it brought me with it."

"I thought Thorin had called it the Arkenstone," Bilbo inquired, gearing the implied question towards Gandalf.

Gandalf glanced at Thorin, who had now joined in with the arguing group, before telling both Gemma and Bilbo, "And I'm very near certain it _is_ the Arkenstone, but there is something strange at work here. It is different from what I knew."

"It can't be the Arkenstone, Gandalf. It is from _my_ world. The Arkenstone is in Ereb—well, where it should be, in _your_ world," Gemma told him, still unsure about how much to say concerning her knowledge of Middle Earth.

"Yes. It is now. Who knows where it has been since the fall of Thror."

Gemma huffed. It was not the Arkenstone. If it was anything, it was the Ulunsuti. It was her father's stone and her father was Cherokee, not King under the Mountain. Therefore, it was a magical Indian stone, not a magical Dwarven stone.

"I really don't care. It's mine, regardless of what you say it is, and, if you're right, I need it to get home."

"ENOUGH," Thorin said loudly to the arguing dwarves, his volume breaking up Gemma's and Gandalf's conversation.

"Thorin, she is a danger to our quest," the overly muscled dwarf protested.

"Dwalin, she knows too much. That is why she must come with us," inserted the white-bearded dwarf, reasoning with his brother.

Thorin told his men, "We take her with us. My word is final,"

Gemma gaped at his words. No one had consulted her about this. She needed to get home before all the other bad stuff happened. She didn't fancy being around for orcs or whatever came next in this tale. "I don't think so," Gemma said, walking over to the group. "I'm going home."

Thorin was about to tell her otherwise when she demanded, "Give me the stone, please." And, to Thorin's and everyone else's surprise, he did. It was in Gemma's hand before Thorin had realized he had even moved his own hand. Gemma, too, was taken aback. She didn't think it would be that easy. "Thank y—" But Thorin had taken the stone back out of her still outstretched hand before she could finish. He did not know why he'd given it to the girl, but it was his birthright. He would not let some woman leave for home with it in her possession like some bauble she'd bought in a market.

Gemma's eye twitched, "Give it back." And he did! Thorin had willed his hand to stay still, gripping it tightly, but as soon as she finished her request, he felt compelled to obey her, at least in this. Gemma looked at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Jump three times," she told him.

Thorin scoffed. "No," he said, remaining still and Gemma pouted. Apparently the stone did not have any _fun_ magical powers, just stupid powers that sent her to places she had no business traveling to.

"Please," Thorin growled, "give me the Arkenstone."

"No," Gemma said smugly.

"Nori, take it from her," and, before Gemma could protest, a dwarf with brown hair in the shape of half a star swooped from behind her and took it from her hand.

"Hey!" she protested. "Give it back." And Nori did, much to his own befuddlement.

Dwalin then tried to grab the stone without so much as a by-your-leave, but Gemma caught on quickly and moved out of his way. "I don't think so," she told him and held the stone close to her heart with both hands.

"I think the stone is where it wants to be," Gandalf told them, sounding almost amused.

"She cannot take the Arkenstone with her," Thorin said outraged, rebuking the wizard.

"Gemma will travel with us until she learns how to open the door to her world using Arkenstone. Is that acceptable?" He pointed the question to both Thorin and Gemma. Thorin seemed to think for a moment and Gemma asked Gandalf, her voice desperate, "You mean you don't know how I can make it take me back?"

"I'm sorry to say that I don't," but Gandalf was lying; he was not sorry. He thought that Gemma and her knowledge might very well come in handy during their journey. If nothing else, she could play keep-away with the stone and it would amuse him all the way to Erebor. "I might know someone who does though."

**A/N:** Much love to all the people who reviewed, followed, and favorite my story. It really keeps me motivated and encouraged.

Like I said in my Author's Note from Ch. 1, the Ulunsuti is a legit Cherokee legend. Google it; it's pretty rad. Gemma references Snow White with Sneezy, Dopey, and Grumpy, and Wizard of Oz with the whole asking wizards for a brain, or a heart, or courage thing and when she says she's not in Kansas anymore. I don't own either of those stories. Lewis Carroll wrote Alice in Wonderland, which I also don't own. I do not think that it's crap, but Gemma thinks it's insane British drivel. All mistakes and typos are definitely mine, so if you spot them let me know!

Thanks for reading my fellow Hobbit fans!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Of things gained**

It didn't take them long to find the troll-hoard, but Gemma refused to go inside. The surrounding area smelled so awful that she was sure that she would pass out should she step inside the dank cave. Thorin and Gemma had yet to come to an agreement about the stone. She had put it in her duffel bag, Thorin giving her the stink-eye as she did so. He seemed to understand, that for now, the stone stayed with Gemma. No one could take it from her for long and Thorin quickly tired of Gemma's smug grin when the stone would find its way back into her hands every time she asked for it.

Currently, Gemma sat with Bilbo and four other dwarves, Ori, Dori, Oin, and Bombur. They'd introduced themselves, bowing—and in Ori's case blushing—offering her their service, as was their custom apparently. The rest of them went into the disgusting hole in search of treasure or whatever they hoped to find in that smelly place. Dwalin stood hovering inside the entrance, keeping one eye on Gemma, the other on the group submitting themselves to digging through the malodourous waste.

"So," said the small hobbit, primly sitting atop a boulder to her right, "if you're not from Middle Earth, where is your home?" At his question, the dwarves, most of them smoking from their pipes, focused on Gemma, waiting for her reply.

"Well, it is sort of difficult to explain. My world is also called Earth, but the, umm, territory in which I live is called Maine. It is a small state within the country called the United States of America. It is not like Middle Earth at all," she paused, "or at least it isn't anymore."

Bilbo seemed to contemplate her words. Ori took out a journal and was quickly scribbling away.

"_United _states? How many are there?" asked Dori.

"There are fifty," she told him and Dori's eyes widened. "Your country is very large then?"

Gemma nodded.

"Your king must be very powerful indeed to unite that many peoples," Dori said impressed and Gemma cringed, but didn't correct him. He stood up from his spot and then came to sit right next to Gemma. He pointed at her bag, "May I?" Gemma hesitated. After a moment, she pulled it off her shoulder and set it in his lap.

Dori held the bag close to his eyes. "You must have access to all sorts of trading markets. What sort of material is this?"

"Hmm, I think it is nylon, perhaps a thick cotton," she told him uncertainly.

"What is nylon? It is very sturdy, this."

"It's a type of plastic…and I bet you have no idea what that is either." Gemma sighed and took back her bag, unzipping the opening. She saw her flashlight on top and pulled it out to show him. The other dwarves had all scooted closer to look at her otherworldly items. Gemma held out the flashlight to Dori. "This is a flashlight. It's made out of plastic, a durable man-made material. I really have no idea how they make it though."

Dori held it as if it was incredibly fragile. Gemma chuckled at him, leaning over to push the button on the side. It was bright outside so it didn't have as much of an effect on them like she had hoped, but Bilbo was intrigued. Dori moved the light to the shadows on the ground between the grass and the rocks, their eyes following the path of the dim yellow spot. "It's like a small magic torch," Bilbo announced.

"Yes, precisely," agreed Gemma, happy that they did not ask her more about it. She was realizing how much she took for granted in her world. She had access to many wonderful things. They just worked or didn't; she never took the time to question why. She knew the basics of things like batteries and electricity, but trying to explain it to someone that basically lived in the dark ages seemed a daunting task. She promised herself that should any difficult questions come her way, she'd chalk it up to "magic" and hope for the best.

Dori handed the light back to her. She clicked it off, stuffing it back into her bag. Bilbo was interested in what else could be hiding in there, the Arkenstone, however, still played on his curiosity. "Will you tell us more about how you came to be here, Miss Gemma, about the stone?" Bilbo queried.

Before Gemma could say anything, Oin coughed. "A dwarf would know more about the Arkenstone than a human child, Master Baggins—,"

"While that is probably true, Bilbo did not ask about the Arkenstone. He asked me about the _Ulunsuti_," Gemma interrupted stubbornly. She refused to give up any small part of her world she had left by letting them give it a different name. Gemma did realize she was being childish, but didn't care at all. She had so little power in this world, she could not force herself to relinquish even a tiny bit of it. Oin simply took a long pull from his pipe, not continuing with his earlier statement.

Bilbo looked between Oin and Gemma, sensing the tension between the two. "Ahem," Bilbo awkwardly cleared his throat, "so the Allensitty is different from the Arkenstone, then?"

"Yes, but like Oin said, I'm no expert on the Arkenstone. My father told me the story about the U-lun-sut-i," she gave Bilbo a meaningful look, "many times." Gemma looked towards the troll-hoard, but Dwalin was still standing in the entrance so she guessed that the others were still rooting around in there. Ori saw his chance, "Will you tell us the story of your stone?" Bilbo and Bombur nodded eagerly, but Oin gave Ori a fierce glare when Ori said 'your stone'.

"Alright, but I'm not a very good storyteller," Gemma took a deep breath and crossed her legs, getting settled. "My father was Cherokee and therefore I am as well. The Cherokee are a native group that lived in the land long before the people who formed my country came to claim it. The story of the Ulunsuti comes from our people, for we're the ones who found it. It is said that the stone gave the Uhktena its powers—"

"Uhktena?" Bilbo asked.

"Oh, it's a dragon," she told Bilbo and the four dwarves. Gemma had forgotten for a moment who she was talking to. "So the Ulunsuti gave the dragon its powers, of which it had many. They could travel from my world to the underworld—which is umm, where the gods live—through caves They were able to see the past and the future, and would lure people to them with the light that shone from the stone. The Uhktena and the Tlanuhwa, which are giant hawks, hated each other and had fought since the beginning of the earth. One day, the Tlanuhwa started to swoop down from the sky, snatching children from a Cherokee village. This was strange because the Tlanuhwa had a peaceful relationship with the Cherokee; the two had always been allies against the conniving Uhktena. The men of the village went to the top of a mountain were the Tlanuhwa lived, waiting until the birds left their nest to look for their stolen children. When the Tlanuhwa left the mountain, the men invaded their nests and found their children, but the birds came back before they could escape. To distract them, the men threw down the Tlanuhwa's eggs into a cave where the Uhktena came up and swallowed the eggs whole! The Tlanuhwa then gave up the children to try to save their own young, diving towards the Uhktena. The giant birds defeated the Uhktena and flew off into the sun, severing their connection with the Cherokee and the earth forever. One Uhktena survived, however, and he was still angry from the battle. He attacked the men on the mountain and after a long clash of talons and spears, one man killed the Uhktena, the Ulunsuti falling out of the dragon's forehead. The Cherokee then cut him into four pieces and sent them to the four corners of the earth. The man who killed the dragon kept the stone in his family for generations because he believed the Ulunsuti was the balance between the light and the dark. Many people tried to use the stone for evil. It cursed them so it is kept hidden and safe underground, until, of course it decided to take me for a joy ride to Middle Earth."

Ori had written down everything he could of Gemma's tale, the scratch of his utensil on the parchment a comforting background noise for her tale. "Your world does not sound so different from ours," said Bombur very quietly. Gemma found herself agreeing. It was strange how much the two worlds had in common, with dragons, giant birds, and stones, but her father's stories were just that. Stories. Fiction. Or they had been until now.

"None of what my father told me is supposed to be true, but I'm finding the connection between what I thought was fiction and what I'm now seeing as fact very disconcerting. I miss expecting normal things and normal things happening. I am so far from what I know to be true," Gemma told them, rubbing the crease in her forehead as she frowned.

Bilbo patted her hand with empathy. _I, too, am far from home_, he thought, comforted by the shared misery between the two of them. His stomach gave a loud grumble and he flushed. They hadn't eaten anything since the stew last night, foregoing breakfast with the thought of possible treasure to be found. It was past noon already. Bilbo was still not used to eating only three times a day. Some days they only had two meals! It was torment for the poor hobbit and he thought if they must wait in this putrid place, they might as well eat something. "Are you hungry, Miss Gemma?"

Her stomach gave an answering gurgle. The dwarves chuckled, Oin getting up to start a fire. Gemma had not given much thought to food yet. Her appetite had not really been a problem after the vertigo and smell leftover from the trolls, but it had been an awfully long while since she'd eaten anything. However, she had a hunch her stomach would not readily agree with the available options. To her surprise, Dori did offer some tea that smelled fruity and tasted a little like bitter blackberries. It was much more familiar to her than the dried venison and hard bread they offered her next. She accepted both as kindly as she could, much taken aback by their generosity. They'd known her less than a day, but they had been friendly and courteous, despite the glares from Dwalin and Thorin.

While the six of them were munching quietly, except for Bombur who seemed to take to his snack with an unmatched ferocity, Gemma tried to focus on what she knew concerning _The Hobbit_. She was certain Gandalf was taking them to Rivendell. That happened next in the storyline and who else but the elves would know more about magic than Gandalf? Ok, so they'd go to Rivendell, meet some elves, figure out to send Gemma home then voila! she'd be back in the field behind her childhood home and she could forget this whole thing had ever happened. She would bury the stupid rock, go back to Maine, and take a nice long bath. She'd call up a friend and tell them about her crazy dream. She would go back to her job and see the cute guy that worked in the office across from hers, maybe she would even invite him out for drinks. If she could survive trolls, she definitely could ask someone out on a date. Yes. That was her plan; it sounded so nice, so easy, so simple.

The clink of metal on metal drew Gemma out of her daydream. Thorin marched towards her and the dwarves with the rest of the company following behind him. Gandalf now carried a sword and a small knife, headed in Bilbo's direction. She smiled, knowing the wizard would give the blade, later called 'Sting', to Bilbo to defend himself. The very stinky, now even dirtier, dwarves carried a few pieces of gleaming treasure and/or various weapons to show the ones that had remained outside of the cave. More meat and bread was passed around to everyone, including Bombur. Gandalf sat next to Gemma after he finished with Bilbo.

"I have a feeling that you know where we're headed," he said lowly, trying to not draw attention to the two of them.

Gemma nodded, "I do."

"Will we reach the Hidden Valley safely?"

"I—I'm not sure," she wavered, "I don't remember anything of significance happening between the trolls and Rivendell, but…"

Gandalf paused, as if sensing the air around them. "Do you feel as if something will deter our way?"

Gemma _did_ have a strange feeling rattling around in her gut. She felt nervous suddenly when Gandalf questioned her about the short journey to see the elves, as if dark ominous butterflies were flying from her stomach to her heart in increasing velocity. She also felt wary of telling Gandalf how he felt. It was something about that knowing gaze that he gave her; it made her uneasy.

"You should trust your instincts, my dear," he stopped, trying to decide on something. He made up his mind and nodded once, "Pull out the Stone, Gemma Halvard."

His tone left no argument, but really Gemma did not want to argue with his demand anyways. She felt an itch start in her palm that slowly started to creep up her arm. Would Gandalf tell her something about the magic that she did not know? Would she get a clue as to how to go home? The itch turned into a burn, one that Gemma recognized. The burn continued up her arm into her shoulder then turned towards her heart. An almost frantic urge took over Gemma. She wanted nothing in the world more than she wanted to hold the stone. She _needed_ to touch it. Everything in Gemma depended on that infernal rock and, even as she cursed it, she was drawing it out of her duffel. As always, when she grasped it, the stone glowed the blue purple she knew it would. Her heart felt full and it beat rapidly. The burn did not stop this time though. She needed something else, but she didn't know what.

"How do I stop it, Gandalf? I don't know what it needs," she whispered.

"I think it needs a release, perhaps a siphoning of power," he told her. She was still sitting on the rock with the rest of the group who had taken little notice of the change occurring beside them. The wind continued to blow softly around them and a few dwarves hummed some mountain song while others continued to eat. Gemma and Gandalf were the only ones who felt the air start to prickle slightly, or so the wizard hoped. Such hopes were destroyed by Bilbo who had yet to move very far from Gemma's side. He was very observant, but most had a tendency to forget that.

"All magic is different and the items containing such power even more so. The magic wants something, is asking for something from you. You must answer, in this you have no choice, but the answer you give it lies with you and you alone." The wizard instructed.

All Gemma could do was nod.

"What will you tell the stone?"

"How can I know that answer if I don't know the question?" she asked, frustrated with his endless riddles.

"Start with something that holds its own kind of magic in your heart. A phrase or memory that holds powerful emotion."

Gemma tried to think of a magical phrase and picked the first that popped into her head, "Abracadabra!" Nothing changed, not that Gemma really expected that to work. The stone still glowed and the burn still festered in her heart. Magic, magic, what phrase contains magic? What _meant_ something to her? "We've all got both light and dark inside us," she started, "What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." Gemma waited, but only felt the slightest twinge of relief in her fingertips. She glared at the stone.

"It must be _more_ than that," Gandalf told her.

Gemma huffed, "You can't get more magical than Harry freaking Potter."

Gandalf furrowed his brow, "Miss Halvard, it must come from your soul. Tell the stone something from the very depths of your emotions."

"Ok, sappy, got it." Gemma thought about what made her emotional, her father's death certainly, but that felt too raw so she thought of her mother. Gemma closed her eyes, thinking of her mother's soft brown hair that matched Gemma's own perfectly. Gemma would twist it around her small fingers as her mother read to her. She could almost feel the cotton of her bedsheets beneath her, could almost smell her mother's perfume that lingered in the room after she left. Her mother had told her the most boring of bedtime stories, but Gemma adored the way the poetry would slide of her mother's tongue with the ease that came from reading it countless times. Pieces of _The Poetic Edda_, of its _Voluspa_, slid into Gemma's thoughts like a warm embrace. She thought of wizards and magic and of chance meetings as she parted her lips, saying, "Alone I sat, when the Old One sought me, The terror of gods, and gazed in mine eyes: 'What hast thou to ask? Why comest thou hither? Othin, I know, where thine eye is hidden.'"

The burning sensation fled Gemma's chest and she let out a whoosh of air, but her eyes quickly took on the same feeling. They burned and she was sure she would have screamed if she had not been bombarded with a string of violent images flashing through her head. They stopped almost as suddenly as they had come and Gemma fell forward off the rock she'd been sitting on. Tears of pain filled her eyes, but as she laid in the muddy grass, glowing stone still in her palm, the pain receded in a matter of moments.

She sat up slowly, the surrounding group of men too stunned to help her. She had just gasped and then seemingly feinted before they could do anything about it. "Women," Dwalin muttered.

"What the actual fuck," Gemma moaned. "That was seriously unpleasant."

"Are you alright, Miss Gemma?" asked Ori so politely.

"No, not at all," she rubbed her eyes roughly. "We need to leave soon, very soon."

Gandalf asked her quickly, "What did the stone tell you? Did you see something?"

Gemma got to her feet slowly, muttering about wizards and their assumptions. "We're in danger here. Some weird wolf thing is coming." She pointed towards the trees behind Kili and Fili on the other side of the circle the dwarves positioned themselves in, "One through there," She turned towards where Thorin and Dwalin were watching her and pointed behind the pair, "Another from there. They're big, huge, gross." She tried to emphasize with her arms their massive size, "I've never seen anything like it before."

All of the dwarves had risen to their feet, uneasy at the mention of possible danger. "How do you know this?" Thorin asked her roughly.

"How did I enter this fucked up fairy tale?" Gemma held up the still glowing stone, her purple eyes staring at him as if mocking his stupid question. "The stone apparently wanted to let me know shits about to go down."

"How can we be sure she's telling the truth?" Nori asked the dwarves around him.

"For the sake of all that's good and chocolate! Why would I lie?! Some random dude is about to pop out of the bushes with his bunnies, then some slimy Rottweiler's are going to try to eat you. I say we skip all that junk and run!"

The dwarves slowly started to pack up their food and new-found troll-treasure, just in case her loud warnings weren't just the ramblings of a madwoman. Gemma let out an agitated moan, "Ya'll are about to be puppy chow if you don't hurry up! Someone point me in the direction of Rivendell if you don't believe me. I'm not stupid enough to stay here."

Bilbo, all ready to go, perked up at the thought of elves, but before the dwarves could so much as spit at the same thought, a rumbling sound came from the east and they quickly drew their weapons. Gemma pushed past the armed dwarves to where she knew the weirdo would come out of the woodworks.

"Something's coming!" Thorin shouted.

_Yea, no shit, Sherlock_, Gemma thought angrily.

A sled pulled by large rabbits bursts from the bushes, just as Gemma knew it would, and a tall man with a demented look in his eye shouted "Thieves! Fire! Murder!"

"Radagast!" Gandalf said sounding relieved, much to Gemma's annoyance and growing fear. The dwarves relaxed at Gandalf's ease.

"Yes, Radagast the brown! We need to go, Gandalf!" Gemma told him urgently. The new comer, one Radagast the brown, tilted his head and blinked at her. He looked at the glowing gem in her hand and he let out a quiet, "Ooo," and whispered, "That's interesting."

Gemma tucked the stone into the bottom of her bag, hiding it underneath its contents, but forgetting to zip it closed. Just what she needed, another nosy wizard.

"Look," Gemma pointed at the wizard, his hair standing every which way, "The thought you're about to swallow is actually a bug. Spit it out."

The man opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Bilbo turned green and the dwarves all stepped back a few paces in revulsion. On the wizards tongue lay a green stick insect and he took it out of his mouth, setting it gently on a leaf attached to a nearby tree. _At least this one listens well_, she thought acridly. His hair was very Einstein-esque, but that might have only been from the frantic bunny sleigh ride. The rest of him was well-kempt enough; he wore a simple brown robe, similar to Gandalf's grey one, and carried a long wooden staff.

"Gandalf, he's about to tell you about the spiders, spawn of Ungoliant from Dol Guldur taking over the Greenwood. And no, that place is not abandoned. Some Necromancer dude is there. He's bad news bears. Now give the poor man some weed, he's distraught," she commanded with confidence. She was surprised when the grey wizard actually followed her directions. The insane look in Radagast's eyes left him as he took a pull from Gandalf's pipe.

"Now," said Gandalf, "A Necromancer. Are you sure?"

Radagast nodded quickly, picking up where Gemma left off, "Quite sure." He handed Gandalf a long object wrapped in boiled leather, "This is not from the land of the living." Gandalf looked at Gemma as if asking for confirmation. "He's right," she told him.

Suddenly, they all heard a loud howl and Gemma shuddered.

"Is that the wolf thing you were talking about," Bilbo asked Gemma nervously.

"Wolf," the dwarf in the funny hat answered for her, "No, that is not a wolf."

"There!" Gemma shouted and pointed at the group of trees where a massive dog-shaped beast emerged, almost pouncing on Kili. Thorin ran at it and struck it down with his new blade.

Gemma didn't have time to warn them as another drooling beast jumped out from the other side and Kili shot it with his bow before it took a bite out of Thorin. Dwalin grabbed a massive axe from the white-bearded dwarf's hands and swung it into the furry thing's neck, cutting off its head.

"Warg-scouts!" Thorin shouted.

"Orc pack!" Squeaked Gemma, who was now trembling. She wanted to bolt, but which way?! Why weren't they running away yet?!

"Orc pack?!" Bilbo squeaked, mimicking Gemma.

"We're being hunted!" She tried to tell them all.

For once, Dwalin seemed to trust her words, "We need to get out of here!"

"The ponies have bolted!" Ori informed them anxiously.

"Radagast will draw them away!" yelled Gemma and the brown wizard hopped onto his sleigh, not even questioning Gemma's keen knowledge of all his future actions.

Gandalf protested, "Those are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you."

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits: I'd like to see them try," Radagast replied with a smirk. He snapped the reins and he and his rabbits were off in a flash.

"Ugh, finally! We needed to have been gone like yesterday!"

And though everyone heeded Gemma's words instantly, she was too terrified of being eaten or killed by orcs, to appreciate gaining the dwarves' hard-earned trust.

**A/N: **I have finals on Monday that I should be studying for instead of writing this, so I'm blaming Tolkien if I fail. I seriously butchered the legend of the Uhktena and the Tlanuhwa so you should google it and read the real thing if that's something that interests you. This chapter has only been read and edited by myself before submitting so I apologize for any and all mistakes.

To **lostfeather1**, I was totally channeling Dumbledore when I wrote that! It makes me deliriously happy that you drew that connection. I think they are _extremely_ manipulative, but I have more tolerance for Gandalf. He doesn't use children for his dirty work and I think, for the most part, he's more opportunistic than manipulative. Like, the dwarves would have probably still gone to Erebor (the portents!) even if Gandalf hadn't supported them so if he happens to stop Sauron from taking the mountain as a seat of power all the better, right? But yes, here he is manipulating Gemma a tad, although he truly doesn't know how to make the stone take Gemma home. I am SO glad you like the story so far, you and Gemma are in for a wild ride ;) Feel free to throw rants my way anytime. We can bond over our mutual frustration for manipulative old wizards that we love/hate.

To **evilspoofauthor1Sven**, thank you for understanding my humor. I am constantly cracking myself up, but then I read it to my friends and they don't think it's that great and I'm just like, you guys, I'm hilarious. What don't you understand? I'm very humbled that you said it put you in a better mood. You have no idea how happy that makes me.

To the two anonymous reviewers, **X Blue Eyed Demon**, and **Porpisha**, thank you so much, SO INSANELY MUCH, for taking the time to review. It means the world to me. And an extra special thanks to **Laura en eryn** for being the first to review! I'm sorry that I did not say anything last chapter, I will be better at showing my appreciation.

To everyone who follow or favorited or both (EEK!), thank you thank you. You are all beautiful cherry pies that deserve every happiness in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Running East**

Gemma had never cared about being athletic before today. She'd played multiple sports as a kid, but when she got older, she hated the over-competitiveness of team sports and they quickly lost their appeal. Her father had taken her hiking and biking many times over the years, which she had enjoyed. Gemma had even gone mountain climbing once, but that was a little too extreme for her. Never had she been a fan of running, though. While she was not overweight, her muscles were not prone to being over-taxed either. She would describe herself as soft, maybe curvy in the right outfit. When she began her office job in Maine two years ago, she had tried to visit a gym to keep off the weight gained from doing nothing but sitting at her desk all day. However, after a month, she no longer cared enough or couldn't spare the time and extra money working out cost. Gemma had grudgingly accepted the extra ten or fifteen pounds she'd put on, trying to eat healthier to balance out the lack of exercise. Today, she was severely regretting those past decisions.

If Gemma had not been running for her life, she might have muttered, "Boy, was I a fool in school for cutting gym," in a sing-song-y voice. But, at the moment, Disney movies were the last thing on her mind. In all actuality, any thought pertaining to the real world, _her_ world, had fled out of Gemma's mind faster than she and the dwarves had fled from the wargs and orc pack that were currently hot on their trail.

Long grass and sharp bushes scraped her denim jeans as Gemma ran alongside Dwalin and Thorin. She was near the back of the group, racing to catch up to the wizard who led her frightened fellows. Gandalf was a wizard who had survived many things worse than the situation they were in and catching up with Gandalf meant safety. Her lungs burned, her throat was dry, and her legs felt rubbery. The dwarves were surprisingly very fast; Gemma was having a difficult time not falling behind. As she ran, her vision stuttering up and down, she noted Bilbo right behind the grey wizard with a touch of relief. He was so small and so polite. Later, she would be intrigued at how fast she'd become fond of the little hobbit.

Gemma's vision was suddenly filled with yellowing grass and weeds on the ground as she stumbled over a hole in the hillside. Her left ankle flared with a white-hot heat when she fell. Her bag flew over her shoulder and she saw Nori grab it as he flew past her. _He really was quick with his hands_, Gemma thought, desperately thanking him in her mind. She jumped up frantically, cringing as her ankle protested, but she had no time to assess the damage. Someone grabbed her arm and she was pulled along, running and hobbling as fast as she could.

The wizard halted behind an outcropping of large grey boulders, the company quickly following his lead. Gemma took quick gasps of breath when they stopped and saw it was Thorin's hand that was wrapped tight around her arm. "Thank you," she wheezed at him. He nodded, a scowl on his face, and let go when Gandalf said, "Come on," the wizard leading them forwards again.

Loud howls were heard in the not-as-far-as-she-wished distance and Gemma tried to urge her legs to go faster. The rocky hillside they ran through did its best to shelter them from their enemies, but it made for a difficult terrain to traverse. Gemma heard loud angry shouts in some deep language that chilled her even as she soaked with sweat. She dodged boulders and bushes as best she could and they kept on running.

They all halted as they saw Radagast on his sled dash across the field in front of them, an angry group of wargs and orcs following close behind him. _Too close, too close! _Gemma thought. "Stay together," Gandalf commanded them and they turned around to flee in the other direction. "Move!" shouted Thorin, trying to be heard over the barking and the sound of massive paws hitting the earth too close to his men.

Gemma was in the middle of the group now. The change in direction had helped her maneuver closer to Gandalf, at least. The dwarves rushed to follow the wizard, their baggage slowing them down. She was once again silently grateful to Nori for grabbing her bag off the ground. She had no such burden to hinder her running yet she was still barely able to match their speed. Her ankle throbbed and she tried to ignore it.

The wizard stopped again behind a group of rocks and they all tried not to run into each other as they rounded the bend, stopping as soon as they could. Gemma had a hard time stopping at all and almost went past them, stopping just in time behind the boulder. She saw a smaller dwarf having the same problem and he slid past her, out into the open. She heard Dori shout in her ear, "Ori, no!" Gemma reached out her hand and grabbed the back of his coat, pulling him close to her, hiding him behind the rocks.

Radagast flew by them again and Gemma could swear she heard him laughing in glee, urging the wargs and their riders on. "All of you, come on! Quickly," Gandalf said, pointing to his right. Gemma was still gathering her breath, holding on to Ori. Dori grabbed his youngest brother and shot her a grateful look as they took off. "Where are you leading us?" Thorin questioned breathily. _At least I'm not the only one who's tired_, she thought. Gandalf just grimaced and ran after the other dwarves, Gemma and Thorin following swiftly.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Gemma hoped they would find a safe place soon. She would almost prefer being eaten compared to the grueling pace. She felt wobbly and dizzy, her muscles burning and her ankle sending up sharp throbs of pain every time she stepped down on that leg. Radagast was coming straight at them now and they quickly filtered behind another outcropping. Thank goodness there were so many places to hide behind or they would all be toast. Gemma heard a low growl on the rocks above her. She would almost preferred being eaten, _almost. _

The warg was too close and the snarling Gemma heard gave her goosebumps. She didn't see Thorin give Kili a significant look, but she spotted Kili as he ran out in front of their group, an arrow notched in his bow. He drew back and aimed, letting his arrow fly. It hit the beast, but did not kill it. It gave loud screech of pain, calling the rest of its pack to it. "Shit," Gemma said under her breath.

The orc that had been riding the warg toppled off of and slid down the rock. It was hideous and terrifying. It ran at them, knife aimed high. Dwalin pushed past her and hefted his large hammer over his head, bringing it down to crack the orcs skull. Bifur joined him and stabbed the horrid creature while cursing in what Gemma guessed was Khuzdul. They made quick work of the warg and its rider, but they were being too loud. Shouts of anger and pain were made by both parties and Gemma knew that they'd been heard by unfriendly ears. The howling picked up again and they all looked in the direction it was coming from. _Too close, too close!_

"Move!" Gandalf said again. "RUN!" and they did. They even ran faster now, if that was possible. Gemma could not catch her breath.

"This way! Quickly!" Gandalf told them again. Gemma was _trying_ to move quickly. She'd never run so fast in her life, but then again, she'd never had to run for her life until now.

An orc crested the hill and Thorin stopped. They'd been spotted. Another rider from the other side of the small valley was approaching them quickly. "There's more coming!" Kili shouted.

"Kili!" Thorin shouted back, "Shoot them!"

Fili drew his sword, "We're surrounded!"

Gemma looked at the awful creatures enclosing upon them. The dwarves were all grouping together and she found herself thrust between them all, sheltered behind hammers, axes, and swords. Kili was in front, shooting as many as he could. Gemma had nothing to arm herself with and she felt truly helpless. "Where's Gandalf?" Gemma couldn't tell which dwarf had asked.

"He's abandoned us," Dwalin growled accusingly.

Beside Gemma, Ori drew back his slingshot. He hit the warg in front of both them, but the snarling beast simply tossed his head in agitation. Seeing that he'd had no effect, Ori grabbed her arm and pulled her further back behind the group, placing himself in front of her. Nori and Dori then positioned themselves in front of their brother. Gemma did not have time to be grateful for the thick dwarven wall of defense. "Hold your ground!" Thorin ordered, holding Orcrist, the sun reflecting off the blade brightly.

Gemma heard a sound behind her and she turned quickly, thinking it was another warg. It was Gandalf! He'd popped up between the rocks like a daisy!

"This way, you fools!" he yelled at them and then ducked back down into where he'd come from.

Dori grabbed Gemma and his brother, leading them to where they'd all seen Gandalf. Ori went first, sliding down and disappearing into the dark. Gemma did not hesitate to follow. She climbed over the rock and skidded down the wall. Once she hit the ground, she moved so that she would not be crushed by the others seeking shelter.

The dwarf with the funny hat came down after her, but he hit a rock on the side and he gave a grunt of pain. Gemma pulled him to his feet when he landed harshly at the bottom. "You alright?" she asked him, concerned. He shook his head, not unlike the warg Ori had hit with his slingshot, and smiled at her. "Hard-headed," he replied and moved out of the way towards the back of the cave. Bilbo slid down next and Gemma helped pull him out of the way, too. She dusted the dirt from his shoulders and he gave her a grateful grin, still breathing hard from the run. The rest of them soon filled the small dark cave, Gandalf counting them each as they came down the hole.

Once Fili, Kili, and then Thorin had slid down, they heard a strange horn blare from above them. Loud shouts and snarls were heard as well. Then, a loud crack from the top of the hole made them jump. A large body fell down and landed at their feet. The orc was covered in dirt and black leather, an arrow sticking out of its neck. Thorin reached down and pulled it out, examining it. "Elves," he muttered in disgust. "Oh, thank god." Gemma muttered and Bilbo nodded his head beside her in agreement.

Thorin gave Gemma a fierce glare and she just shrugged in return. Gandalf sighed wearily and Thorin turned back towards him, but before he could say anything to the wizard, Dwalin shouted, "I cannot see where the pathway leads!" The large dwarf was near the back of the cave, looking around a sharp corner. "Do we follow it or no?" he asked.

"Follow it, or course!" replied a dwarf close behind him and they all trotted off into the darkness.

"I think that would be wise," Gandalf said pointedly and Bilbo pulled on Gemma's sleeve to get her to follow the rest of the group, Thorin and Gandalf close on their heels.

Several times, poor Bombur had to be pushed and pulled in order to make it through the small crack in the stone they walked through. "Gandalf," Bilbo said after a few minutes of walking, "Where are we?"

"You can feel it?" The wizard asked the hobbit, not answering the question. Gemma paused, she could feel something as well. A small tingling along her skin. It tickled almost and made her feel something she had not felt in a long time.

"It feels like—well, like magic," Bilbo told Gandalf. Gemma did not know if she agreed. It did feel sort of like the feeling she had when she held the Ulunsuti, but, to her, it really felt more like…home.

"That's exactly what it is," Gandalf said softly. Gemma turned around to look at him fully and saw that the wizard had a small smile on his face and he continued, "A very powerful magic."

"There's a light ahead," a voice called from the front of the company and Gemma turned around to follow, thinking on Gandalf's words.

They came out of a large opening in the craggy rocks. There was a tiny waterfall flowing down the wall to Gemma's left and walked besides the small stream the water created. It led them to a large outlook formed on the side of a very tall cliff lit fully by the sun. For a moment, the bright light blinded her eyes, but once they adjusted from the brightness, Gemma's jaw dropped.

Below them lay many tall green trees turning different shades in the sun as it filtered through the leaves. Beyond the trees, in front of a large mountain-side, rested an elegant village of castle-like homes and cottages. Waterfalls and birds seemed to spring from everywhere. She heard angelic voices flow up to them from the trees and they warmed Gemma's heart. It was so overwhelmingly beautiful and full of color. A breeze danced across their faces and the tingling on the air she'd felt in the caves raced across her skin. Gemma wanted to cry.

"The Valley of Imladris," said Gandalf, "In the common tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," both Gemma and Bilbo replied with an awed voice.

"Here lies the last Homely House East of the Sea," Gemma breathed and wiped a tear that had escaped from her eye.

"Indeed," said the wizard. Thorin hit the hilt of his axe on the ground. "This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy," he accused Gandalf.

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield," the wizard told him stubbornly, tired of this argument. "The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."

Bilbo's nose twitched as he watched Thorin stiffen. The dwarf scoffed, "You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

Gemma and the rest of the dwarves remained frozen, looking at the valley, some in wonder, and some in disgust.

Gandalf tried to reason with Thorin, "Of course they will, but we have questions that need to be answered, especially about the Arkenstone." Gemma whispered stubbornly, still looking at the valley, "You mean the Ulunsuti."

Thorin sighed and Gandalf went on, "If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact." He paused, "and respect. And no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me." He then walked past Thorin and the dwarves, leading the way down the cliff by way of a narrow path.

The voices, the singing coming from the trees, continued as they made their way into the valley. Gemma wished she could understand what they were saying. From what she remembered about the elves' songs, they were quite silly and she could use a good laugh after yet another near-death experience. Her ankle still hurt very much and the angle at which she was forced to walk down the cliff wasn't doing her any favors. She cursed the existence of orcs, of wargs, and of trolls.

They came to a stone bridge that was placed above a rushing river. A delicate design bordered the bridge at her feet, but she did not want to look down. It was very, _very_ high above the river and there weren't any rails to keep her from falling should she stumble, which was increasingly likely due to her ankle. She hobbled after Gloin and was last to enter the stone courtyard that was bordered by trees and carved statues of elven warriors. Gemma paused at the entrance, looking at these statues. The lines of their cloaks and armor so detailed and intricate that Gemma was at once hit with a wave of jealousy over such skill. She'd never had any interest in sculpting, yet if she had talent like this, she'd do nothing but sculpt for the rest of her life. Bilbo, too, was looking admiringly at the décor around them, but the dwarfs were shuffling or pacing, waiting for something.

They did not have to wait long. A tall elf with dark brown hair swept gracefully down the steps that led past the courtyard and into the main part of Rivendell. The elf had a woven headpiece that should have looked feminine, but didn't. "Mithrandir!" the elf called softly, drawing the attention of all before him.

"Ah!" said Gandalf cheerfully, "Lindir."

The elf gave a small bow, his right hand over his heart then sweeping out towards them. The elf smiled in greeting and began speaking to the wizard in a wonderful sounding foreign tongue. Gemma knew it was elvish, but she only knew a few elvish words and didn't even try to understand it. She just listened at the flow of words, appreciating the smooth sounds and syllables that skipped over each other like water over pebbles. "Stay sharp," Thorin muttered skeptically towards the dwarves.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," Gandalf told Lindir.

The elf looked disappointed to tell him, "My lord Elrond is not here." This surprised Gemma. Wasn't he in The Hobbit, in the book? He was the only one who knew about the magic stone in her bag, surely. If he was not here, who else was there in Middle Earth that could help her get home?

Thinking about the stone for the first time since they'd fled the orcs, she walked over to Nori as Gandalf and Lindir continued to converse. "Thank you for grabbing my bag," she told him gratefully. The dwarf smiled at her and Gemma thought that was the first time she'd seen him with a kind look on his face. He held out the bag to her and Gemma took it from him.

"Thank you for saving my brother," he told her in return. Gemma blinked and took a moment to reply. When had she saved anyone?

Ori came up behind her and said, "Yes, thank you Miss Gemma." Gemma could see his face redden and she grinned at him, catching on to what they were talking about.

"I only pulled you out of the way so I could use you as a teddy bear," she teased him.

"A teddy bear?" Ori asked.

Gemma laughed, "It's a toy children use for comfort." When she explained this, Ori blushed again and Nori laughed with her.

Dori, who'd been watching them, said with a grin, "Still, he's teddy bear whose life you saved. You have my thanks as well."

A red-headed dwarf standing next to Dori nodded and said gruffly, "Aye. T'was a good thing you did, lass." He walked closer to her, stopping in front of her and bowing. He had a long red beard that was separated and braided here and there with silver clasps. "I am Gloin, son of Groin, at your service," he told her.

Gemma would have giggled at the name Groin if she hadn't been so excited by hearing Gloin's name. "You're Gimli's dad!"

The dwarf's eyebrows raised and his mouth dropped opened slightly. Gloin was stunned. "How do ye know about me lad?"

Gemma's excitement died instantly. Oops. "I—umm…" If she told Gloin she knew about Gimli because he was famous then that could bring trouble. If she told him she knew about Gimli because of the stone then that might make Gloin even more suspicious. Gimli had a grand destiny and played too large of a part in the war to come for Gemma to botch his future up with her interference. "Bilbo mentioned him and I was just really excited to see a picture of him," she rushed to fill the silence that had taken hold while she was thinking of an excuse. "I've never seen a dwarf child. I can't imagine how cute he must be!" She might have been overselling it a tad.

Gloin grinned at her words, though. He was awfully proud of his son. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small metal frame, handing it to Gemma. "Here, have a look," he said, still gleaming and full of pride.

Gemma took the thing from Gloin, using her fingernails to pry open the locket-type box. When she opened it, she saw too hand-drawn faces, both with beards. She thought one looked more feminine than the other so hazarded a guess, "Is this your wife?"

"Yes, such a beauty!" Gloin said smugly. _Beauty in the eye of the beholder_, she though then Gemma looked at the sketch of what must be his son. He looked like a miniature version of Gloin and she smiled softly.

"You must miss them terribly," she whispered, still studying the pictures in her hand.

Gloin nodded and said with watery eyes, "Aye, that I do lass."

"Gimli looks just like you, you know. You have much to be thankful for." Gemma handed the frame back to Gloin. He looked up at her, thinking on her sad tone.

"Do you have any children, Miss Gemma?"

Gemma stuttered, "M-me? Oh no, no." Gloin tilted his head as if he didn't believe her.

"I… I just miss my family, too, is all," Gemma clarified wistfully. At her words, Gloin nodded in understanding.

A horn sounded atop the cliff they had descended from and the dwarves turned toward the sound. They saw many elves on horses riding towards them, swords in hand. "Close ranks!" Thorin shouted. A few of the dwarves cursed in Khuzdul, but they hurried to do as he commanded. Gemma was once again thrust to the middle of the circle, many dwarves drawing their weapons in front of her. Bilbo was pushed into the group to stand beside her and he looked up at her fearfully. Gemma patted him on the shoulder, trying to comfort him.

Very tall horses with very tall elves riding them marched into the courtyard and quickly encircled the group, striding around the cluster of dwarves. The elves glared down at them and the dwarves jeered back. The elves were so much bigger than them; it was daunting and very threatening.

The elves drew to a halt and one elf that sat atop a beautiful golden horse shouted, "Gandalf!"

"Elrond," Gandalf said fondly. Gemma tried to get a good look at the elf, but the dwarfs were crowded too close in front her, hiding Elrond from her view. All she could see of him was his long dark hair. There were elvish words exchanged and this time it frustrated Gemma.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders," the elf finally said in the common tongue. "Something, or someone," the elf turned to look at the dwarfs, "has drawn them near."

"Ah," said Gandalf guiltily, "That may have been us."

Thorin stepped forward and Elrond said to him, "Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I do not believe we have met," the dwarf warily replied.

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain."

"Indeed," Thorin said haughtily, "He made no mention of you." Gemma rolled her eyes at his words.

Elrond replied in elvish, quite rudely, really. Gemma had no idea what he said, but suspected it was not entirely kind.

"What is he sayin'?" Gloin asked suspiciously. "Does he offer us insult?!"

The dwarves all muttered or hissed or cursed at this. Before they could do too much damage, Gandalf said calmly, "No, master Gloin. He's offering you food."

Gemma laughed loudly, surprised at this turn of events and relieved they'd be able to rest awhile. The dwarfs whispered quietly to each other, conferring on what to do.

"Ah, well. In that case, lead on," Gloin said decidedly. Lindir then began to lead the way past Elrond and Gandalf. The dwarves filed past them as well, one by one. Gemma was the last in the group, after Bilbo, and just as she drew past Elrond, the elf said, "And what would a woman being doing amongst a company of dwarves?"

Gemma winced. She had hoped they could have this discussion after the food…and maybe a long nap. She turned around to face him and Gandalf. "Actually, I'm here to see you, I think."

Elrond raised his brow at her words, "Oh?"

Gemma thought he was quite handsome, but not in a way that she would find attractive; his grandeur was more intimidating than anything else. She looked at Gandalf, hoping he would take over for her, but he simply looked back at her, saying nothing.

Gemma huffed and reached into her duffel bag she'd placed over her shoulder once Nori had given it back to her. She had to dig around for a moment before her hand closed over the Ulunsuti. Once she did, her eyes, as always, took on the purple hue. She pulled it out, looking at Elrond who watched her curiously. When he saw her the color of her eyes, his own eyes widened and he peered down at the stone which was glowing the same color.

"The Arkenstone?" He asked wondrously. Elrond stepped closer to her, "Who are you?"

Gemma watched him as he kneeled before her, taking the stone gently out of her hands. She let him take it, but she didn't really know why. It simply felt safe to do so. Gandalf hummed reassuringly.

"My name is Gemma Halvard and I'm nobody really, at least, I'm not supposed to be."

The stone sat in Elrond's palm, a dull white with purple veins across its surface.

"That is obviously not true," Elrond told her, still studying the stone. "Not true at all."

**A/N**: "Boy, was I a fool in school for cutting gym" is from Mulan. I'm also referencing Mulan, which I do not own, when I say Gandalf popped out of the rocks like a daisy. You can tell which movie I've been hankering to watch. This chapter has not been beta'ed, so any and all mistakes are mine. I was super tired when I wrote this (finals will be the death of me) so if it's too mistake-ridden, please PLEASE let me know! I do re-read my chapters, but I'm only human.  
**Lostfeather1,** you're welcome! Thanks so much for the review! Oh man, I have so much planned for Thorin and Gemma. I am so stoked.  
**Blue Fire Lily, **thank you! There's not as much sass in this one, but really there weren't many opportunities for sassery. There will be plenty later on, though!  
**BloodyTink **and **X Blue Eyed Demon X,** thank you for your lovely reviews! They make me want to write more and more!  
Also, thank you to everyone who favorited and followed, you give life to my muse.

Thanks for reading, my beautiful butterflies!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Taking a breather**

In all honestly, Gemma was a little tired of people kneeling at her feet at the sight of the Ulunsuti. Perhaps though, the exhaustion and stress from dealing with trolls, orcs, wargs, and running far longer than she'd ever had to might be influencing her level of tolerance for anything, let alone an elf kneeling on the ground.

Elrond certainly did not strike her as the type of being to linger in the dirt, but he did not seem inclined to rise to his feet anytime soon and Gemma was tempted to sit down with him to take the weight off of her ankle. She stared as him as he stared at the stone, both of them never seeing something so foreign before. Elrond had long dark hair with little twists and braids on both sides of his head. A bronze crown sat across his forehead, drawing to a downwards point in the middle of his forehead. He wore beautiful red armor that looked well-crafted, but not all comfortable to kneel in. He had long lines around his mouth, making him look a little weary and very wise. His jaw was strong, but Gemma decided his eyebrows were his defining feature. They seemed to change with every expression that crossed his face. At the moment, they were furrowing in consternation for Elrond had never seen anything like the stone nor _felt_ anything similar to the magic he sensed within it, except for in a few very powerful items that remained guarded by very powerful beings. To Gemma, Elrond definitely seemed awed by the stone, but his expression was nowhere near the look of wonder and reverence Thorin had shone towards what he thought was the Arkenstone.

Gandalf stood beside them, waiting for Elrond to finish his analysis of the stone. Finally, Elrond seemed to make up his mind about something before reaching out for Gemma's hand. He took one of her fingers and brushed it across the surface of the stone. It glowed hesitantly at her touch, as if it wasn't sure what to do. He turned Gemma's hand over, placing the stone in her palm. The stone glowed confidently as did her eyes.

Elrond stood up, one hand on his chin while he watched Gemma stand there, her hand outstretched with the stone. "I am not sure what to make of this, but you were right to come here," he told them. "When Thror ruled Erebor, I saw the Arkenstone where it sat above his throne. One does not forget such a gem just as I will not forget you, Gemma Halvard."

Gemma was unsure how to respond to that. She wanted to be flattered, but the ominous tone in Elrond's voice made her stomach twist anxiously. It sounded like remembering her would not bode well for anyone and she thought about Elrond's gift as foresight. She swallowed thickly. "I am not from this place, from Middle Earth, sir," she began and Elrond nodded knowingly. "Gandalf thought—well, I thought, too, that you would know how I can get home...," her voice faltered.

Elrond looked at Gandalf, one eyebrow raised. Gandalf still refused to say anything and Gemma grew frustrated with him again. They _would_ send her home, right? If they knew how, surely they would not _want_ her to remain in Middle Earth. She knew too much; she'd told Gandalf as much, but she was beginning to wonder if her first feeling towards the wizard had been correct. It seemed like days ago, but when she'd first woken up in a completely different world, she'd not trusted Gandalf. Maybe there was a reason to still feel that distrust. "Lord Elrond, sir, where I come from there are many tales about the—uhmm—future happenings of Middle Earth. It would behoove everyone if I was sent home. What I know…it could be very dangerous. You must understand this."

Elrond raised both eyebrows at her statement. "Who else knows of you?" he asked her.

"Just the dwarves, and you and Gandalf. Oh, and of course, Bilbo."

Elrond nodded once more and Gandalf finally spoke, "So you're sure it's the Arkenstone?"

"Quite sure, although it is strange that it has taken on such," he paused, looking at Gemma and her purple eyes, "qualities." Gemma was tired of riddles and she was tired of conniving wizards. She stuffed the stone into her duffel bag and her eyes went back to the gentle green they were meant to be.

"You're wrong," Gemma argued firmly. "It is not, can_not_ be, the Arkenstone. My father was given the Ulunsuti by his father. My grandfather was given the stone by his father and so on. It has been in the care of by my family for centuries."

"And no one has seen the Arkenstone for centuries. Maybe it is not the Ulunsuti or the Arkenstone, but both," Gandalf inserted. Gemma shook her head in frustration.

"What is an Ulunsuti?" Elrond asked her. Gemma told him the legend of the Uhktena and of how the Ulunsuti had fallen from its forehead. The elf and wizard discussed the stone and of how Gandalf had come upon Gemma. There was mention of doors and magic and dragons, but Gemma was swaying on her feet. Most of what they said was in elvish and the rest Gemma could not focus on long enough to even get the gist of their conversation.

"If the stone opened a door to bring her here, perhaps it opened a door to bring itself to Gemma's world many years ago," Gandalf reasoned.

"The stone itself might be the door," Elrond responded. He rubbed his forehead, thinking about many possibilities. Elrond needed more information so he turned to Gemma. Her eyes were glazed over and she looked minutes from dropping to the floor in exhaustion. Elrond smiled gently, saying, "I will try my best to send you back to your home, Gemma Halvard. I need to consult my library and perhaps confer with another on the subject."

Gemma broke out of her stupor once she heard her name and was about to protest the last part of his statement, but he went on to say, "In the meantime, you're welcome to stay here." A female elf with long black hair walked up to stand by Elrond, bowing her head slightly. "Annúnel will show you where you can bathe and rest."

When she heard this, all other thoughts were completely consumed with fantasies of warm, clean water and soft, fluffy beds. The lady gestured at Gemma to follow her and she walked off in the direction Lindir had taken the dwarves. Gemma did not hesitate to follow the elf, leaving Elrond and Gandalf behind. When she turned away from the pair, Gandalf gave Elrond a pointed glare.

…

The lady walked quickly, leading her down the path, and Gemma struggled to keep up with her. She could tell without having to look that her ankle was very swollen and it still throbbed painfully. The lady turned around, hearing Gemma's hobbled steps. "Are you injured?" she asked Gemma with a concerned look on her face. Annúnel was really quite beautiful as Gemma was starting to suspect all elves would be. It was not a beauty that Gemma would be envious of, although she certainly felt plain next to her in comparison, but one that Gemma found comforting in an odd way. It made her feel safe, somehow, as if her surroundings, the elven lady included, were pure and untouched by the ugliness in the world. "I twisted my ankle pretty badly," Gemma replied.

The elf's face took on a pitying look and stepped close to Gemma, taking her arm. "Here, lean on me," she told Gemma in a melodious voice. The elf's skin was cool and soft against her hand and Gemma blushed at her weakness, her mortality. "Thanks," Gemma mumbled.

"Would you like me to take you to dine with your companions?"

Gemma considered her question, "I think if I had to choose, I'd rather sleep a hundred years than look at another piece of food again." Gemma's stomach growled then in protest.

The lady laughed beautifully, a wide smile on her mouth. "I'm sure you can sleep and eat tonight without having to resort to such drastic measures," the lady reassured her, leading her down the path again, one arm wrapped around Gemma's.

They came to a fork in the path, the lady choosing to go right. Gemma heard a raucous clamor of voices singing and yelling from the other direction. She snorted and the lady giggled. "I've never met a dwarf before but they seem very…spirited," Annúnel said tentatively. Gemma could have sworn she'd heard glass breaking and winced, "That's putting it mildly, for sure."

The lady patted her hand, "No matter, they are welcome, as are you. Change is necessary and we see so little of it."

They did not meet anyone on the way to her rooms and Gemma was mildly relieved. She felt grimy and knew she must look a mess. Reaching a closed door, Annúnel pulled out an ancient looking key and inserted it into a hole in the wonderfully carved wood. When they stepped inside, Gemma was surprised at how large it was. A few feet from the entrance lay three steps that descended down into a lower floor that held a massive bed that Gemma wanted to drown herself in. Soft looking pillows and blankets covered the bed and Gemma wanted to cry in relief at the sight. The lady pointed at a door on a wall beyond the bed, "Behind there is the bathing room. I will get some things for your ankle, rest here a moment." Annúnel left Gemma on a cushioned stool that sat beside a wooden desk. Gemma placed her duffel bag on the ground next to her feet.

Gemma didn't even have time to look around the room before the lady returned, carrying a tray of small bottles and bandages. Gemma removed her boots gingerly as Annúnel placed the tray on top of the desk. Her ankle looked horrible and that was with it covered mostly by her jeans. She bent down to pull the leg of her pants up, the fabric dingy with dirt and sweat. The elf knelt down and gently placed Gemma's foot in her lap. She prodded Gemma's ankle gently and then twisted it slightly. Gemma cursed. "It is sprained, but this should help," the lady told her and took a bottle from the tray. She poured a bit of its contents into her hand and rubbed the oil into Gemma's ankle. It felt cold, then warm, tingly all the while. Gemma smiled. _It's like IcyHot, _she thought, happy at the familiarity she'd found in elvish medicine.

"I will wrap it for you after you finish your bath," said the elf and she helped Gemma limp towards the bathroom door. Gemma opened it, pausing in the doorway. She really shouldn't be surprised at the opulence of it, but she was, very much so. The tiles on the floor made up a mosaic of blue and green waves, resembling the ocean. There was a long table along one wall that held many colorful bottles and cloths, but the tub—no, the pool, took up the majority of the room. It was sunken into the floor with steps leading into the steaming water. The source of the water was a small waterfall coming from a hole in the wall that rushed gently into the golden-tiled pool beneath it. Gemma saw a small drain at the bottom of the clear water. Who knew elves had indoor plumbing?

"I will take your clothes to be washed and mended. Do you need help bathing?"

Gemma shook herself out of her reverie, "Uhmm, no thank you."

Annúnel smiled at her reddening face. "Would you like me to wait out of the room while you undress?"

Gemma's shoulders slumped in relief, "Yes, please."

Once the elf had shut the door behind her, Gemma began to unbutton her dirty plaid shirt. It had once been purple and grey, but you could hardly tell it had ever been any other color but dusty brown. Her jeans were in a similar state. She peeled off her underthings and folded all of her clothes into a small pile. She hid behind the door as she opened it to hand her disgusting clothes off to the lady. "Thank you," Gemma told her and quickly shut the door.

Gemma peered at the bottles on the table, seeing they were unlabeled. She opened one and brought it up to her nose. It smelled strongly of rose. Gemma winced and put it back. She went through four other bottles before she found one that smelled lightly of lavender and decided that would do. She set it on the ground next to the pool along with a large square of plushy white cloth that Gemma guessed was their version of terry cloth and a small square of linen.

She stepped slowly into the pool. It was warm, but not too hot and Gemma did not even care how they'd gotten it to a perfect temperature. She stood at the bottom of the pool, the water rising to her chest, soaking up the warmth of the water. This is what heaven must be like, she was certain. She ducked under the water, wetting her long, tangled hair, then grabbed the bottle, pouring a large amount onto her head. She scrubbed and scrubbed all the while wishing for conditioner. Gemma washed her hair a few times and then moved to her body, picking up the linen to wash the dirt away. Once she finally felt clean, she sat on one of the steps in the water for a long time, leaning her head on the side of the pool, thinking of nothing.

Gemma soaked in the peace of that moment that was as tangible as the water around her for so long her skin began to prune. She noticed this, but took a second to wonder if she cared enough to leave. She gave a wide yawn and thought of the glorious bed waiting to embrace her next door so she stood up. Her ankle felt much better and the swelling had lessened considerably. Gemma dried off with the thick cotton square and saw a light blue robe hanging from the back of the door. She wrapped the towel around her head, put on the silky robe, and opened the door.

Annúnel stood there, one hand raised as if to knock. She dropped her hand, giving the towel wrapped around Gemma's hair a funny look. In the elf's other hand was a tray of delicious looking food. "You're my savior," Gemma told her fondly.

The lady smiled and swept to the side so Gemma could pass her. She set the food down onto the desk that still held the other tray. "Sit," said Annúnel, pointing at the nearby cushion. Gemma did and the lady wrapped her ankle tightly in white bandages. "Thank you," Gemma said.

The lady nodded and said, "Eat while I brush your hair." Her tone brooked no argument, not that Gemma would have. It knew it would be a chore and she was happy to hand it over to someone else. The elf took the towel from her head and pulled a wooden-backed brush out of a drawer in the desk. Gemma looked at the tray, surveying her options. There was a bowl of sliced fruit, a small loaf of bread, a plate of very green salad, and a carafe of water. She went for the fruit first as Annúnel tackled her hair.

The poor elf was still untangling her heavy brown mane when Gemma had finished all the food on the tray. "Your hair is so thick," the lady had exclaimed more than once, but Gemma just gave her a thankful look as Annúnel continued to brush out the knots. As long as it took her, Gemma did not mind. The elf was very gentle, not pulling her hair too sharply once, which should have been an impossible feat. After a while, the brushing became smoother and more soothing, lulling Gemma into a slow rhythm that beckoned her into dreamland.

The brushing stopped and Annúnel tapped her on the shoulder. "I am done, take a look," the elf said, handing her a silver hand mirror. Gemma opened her eyes, blinking away her grogginess for a moment. She took the mirror and held it up to her face. "Your hair is very soft, very beautiful, but it does not obey easily." Gemma simply nodded in agreement. The lady had braided it intricately to fall down her neck. It would look lovely when it dried.

Gemma did not use the mirror to look at her hair though. She peered at her face, studying it to try to see the change she felt should be there. She'd only been in Middle Earth for barely a day, the sun just now setting through the window above the bed, but she felt as if it had been ages since her father's funeral. She felt different inside, altered in an indescribable way that she had hoped would reveal itself in her reflection, but she remained the same as she'd always been. Her nose was long and straight, rounding at the end. Her dark green eyes sat deep within her face, staring hard at her sharp, square jawline and harsh cheekbones. Gemma's mother had always told she had "a strong face, a fighting face," but Gemma had never been satisfied with the lack of femininity in her features. Her only consolation was the dark eyelashes that swept along her cheeks when she closed her eyes, framing the green orbs thickly when she opened them.

Gemma sighed in disappointment and set the mirror face down on the desk. "You know, a hundred years of sleep might not be enough after all," she said tiredly to Annúnel. The elf gave her a long silky nightgown in the same color as her robe and left her to rest. Once the elf had shut the door, Gemma searched for the Ulunsuti in her bag, but decided to dump its entire contents on the bed. She took stock of what she'd brought with her to Middle Earth.

On the bed now laid the blanket she'd woven for her father, the Ulunsuti, a smooshed granola bar, the shovel she'd used to dig up the Ulunsuti, her yellow flashlight, her car keys, and a necklace her father had given her many years ago. She had planned to wear it to his funeral, but hadn't been able to find it yesterday and convinced herself that she hadn't packed it to bring to Oklahoma in the first place. The chain was simple, silver with small interlocking loops. In the center of the necklace sat a wooden carving of a bear with one red bead above it sitting between the bear and the chain. Gemma clasped it around her neck, too exhausted to feel anything but the urgent need to sleep. She quickly tossed everything but the Ulunsuti back into her bag. She untucked one side of the indecently soft covers of the bed and crawled in with a heavy sigh. Gemma placed the stone underneath an equally soft pillow and was asleep before she could draw the covers up over herself.

* * *

She stood on the top of a crumbling stone parapet, surveying the mass of fighting, screaming, screeching creatures below her with an apathetic eye. _This is all futile_, a voice said callously inside her head. Something buried deep within her stirred, a tendril of fright creeping through her mind. She surveyed the struggle taking place in a wide field before a great mountain. One side of the warring armies appeared to be losing ground quickly. The voice inside her sighed softly and muttered, _so pointless_. Many lay dead or dying on the ground. Gemma could see piles of bodies on the ground. Then a small group ran out of the mountain and into the fray. They collided with the others violently and Gemma wanted to wince, but she had no control over her movements. She continued to watch the fighting; the losing side seemed to have gained a second-wind.

Soon, a few figures separated from the armies in the valley and were headed quickly up the hill where she stood. She wanted to scream at them to turn around, but she had no idea why. No, something was wrong, very wrong. Gemma could do nothing except watch them reach the top of the small hill that her parapet sat upon. They weren't supposed to be here. She didn't know how she knew, but they were in grave danger here. The figures grew closer. She could finally make out their faces. They were dwarves. She saw Thorin first, then Fili following behind him. Fog hid the other two faces from her sight. "No! Go back!" she wanted to scream at them. Her heart raced in fear and dread. Please, she thought, someone help them! _It's a trap, you know,_ the voice in her head told her. _There are few who can help any one of them, but no one will reach Ravenhill in time._ Ravenhill, thought Gemma desperately, where is Ravenhill? They dwarfs crept closer, but the fog rose up, swallowing them completely. _So pointless, _the voice repeated. _There deaths will be so pointless, unless…_

* * *

Gemma sat up, gasping for breath. Sweat ran down her back and she shivered violently. Gemma couldn't remember what she dreamt about, but it filled her with an urgent, shaky fear. Something about ravens, maybe? There'd been fighting and death, yet any part of it she tried to recall slipped from her mind like water through a sieve. She pulled the covers over her legs, wrapping the blankets around herself tightly. The dream was awful, that much she knew. It disturbed her so much she didn't want to go back to sleep in case it continued once she closed her eyes again. She ran a hand through her hair, undoing the braid Annúnel had put it in. Her room was dark, but tiny streams of light were beginning to find their way through her window so Gemma decided she might as well get out of bed if there was no more sleep to be gained from it.

She pushed the covers off and shivered again. She walked slowly towards the bathroom, hands outstretched in case she ran into a wall in the not-quite-bright-enough room. Gemma entered the bathroom and took off her nightgown, stepping into the warm bath carefully. She washed the sweat from her body, but made sure to not get her hair wet. She'd learned her lesson the night before and there was no Annúnel to help her wrestle it at the moment. Once she was finished with her bath, she dried off and went to hunt for clean clothes.

In the main room, there was a tall wardrobe tucked into the far corner she'd missed last night in her quick survey of the room. The sun was shining more helpfully now so she opened the small wooden doors, peering at the contents inside. There were three long dresses to choose from, but that was it. Gemma frowned at the lack of options. She couldn't very well go around wrapped in a towel until her own clothes were washed, although looking at the finery in front of her she was seriously considering it. Either way, she'd have to go commando. The first dress was a light green velvet with long flowing sleeves and a high waist. The second was a deep maroon gown with small twinkling gold beads sewn in a swirly pattern from the neckline to the waist and then picked back up again at the hem. The third was a dark blue cotton that reminded her of the dress she'd worn to the funeral.

Gemma was instantly relieved at the memory of the dress. She could wear that instead of these gowns that were much too fine for her taste. Still wrapped up in her towel, she went to her bag, rifling through it to find the simple navy summer dress. She couldn't find it though…had it been there when she'd taken stock of her belongings last night? She didn't remember seeing it then, but she distinctly recalled putting it in her bag when she changed in her father's house after that rude man, Mr. Pont, left. So when had she lost it? Gemma tried to guess, but it really could have been anytime she had been in Middle Earth. It might have been lost when she'd been roughly taken from her world, or when the trolls picked her up, or even when they'd been running from the orc pack. She sighed sadly, both because she was fond of the navy frock and because she would now have to wear one of the gowns in the wardrobe.

She picked the blue one and pulled it over her head. It was too long; she'd have to hold it up while she walked. The sleeves were thankfully much shorter and tighter than the sleeves on the other two gowns, only reaching her elbow. She found a thin brown belt hanging from a hook in the back of the dresser so she placed it around her waist tightly, trying to draw up some of the fabric of the dress so she wouldn't trip as easily. The bodice of the gown was thick enough and, once she'd figured out the laces in the back of it, tight enough to support her breasts. It still felt weird to be without a bra and especially weird without underwear. What else could she do though? She looked around for her boots, but they weren't where she'd left them. Perhaps Annúnel had taken them to be cleaned as well? They had been fairly muddy. She supposed going barefoot wouldn't be that big of a deal in Rivendell, at least.

Gemma was about to leave the room in search of breakfast, but she hesitated. Should she leave the stone there? She didn't want to leave it here, merely hiding under her pillow, but she didn't want to carry it around out in the open either. It contained magic of some sort, surely it should remain a secret as much as possible. Her long dress had no pockets, go figure, and all she had to carry it in was her duffle bag. After a few moment's deliberation, she decided she would look around the room more thoroughly. If she found nothing useful, she'd just carry in her hand wrapped around the fabric of her dress and hope for the best.

She started with the desk, opening its many drawers. At last, in the bottom drawer she found a small drawstring pouch that held a few pieces of different colored wax Gemma presumed for was sealing envelopes. She emptied the pouch and put the wax back into the drawer. Gemma grabbed the Ulunsuti out from under her pillow on the bed. She placed it gently into the leather pouch and tied the pouch around her belt. It weighed the belt down a bit, but it was the best she could do for now and she walked out the door, her stomach growling.

She was unsure where to go, but thought her best bet was to go back the way Annúnel had led her the night before. Hopefully, she'd run into someone who could point her in the right direction. Gemma was lucky this morning for she did run into someone, literally. She came around the corner and a small body collided with hers rather painfully. A foot hit her ankle at a strange ankle and it throbbed angrily "Shit," she cursed, grabbing her sore ankle. The small person who'd fallen to the ground at their collision giggled. Gemma looked down. It was a small boy with dark shaggy hair.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, concerned she had hurt him with her clumsiness.

"You said a bad word," the boy said with a mischievous grin.

Gemma felt vaguely guilty and smirked, "Yes, but if no one else hears it, did it really happen?"

The boy tilted his head like a small puppy, thinking over her odd reasoning. "Of course it did," he told her. "I heard it."

"And I'll deny it to my death," she teased, placing a hand over her heart. The boy scrambled up to his feet energetically. "I'm sorry I ran into you. You are okay, aren't you?"

The boy grinned again, "_I_ ran into _you_. It was my fault and no harm was done. Ada won't have to patch me up just yet."

Gemma's eyebrow raised, curious now, "Who is your father?"

"Lord Elrond, but he's not really my father. He just lets me call him that," the boy informed her matter-of-factly. Gemma's thoughts about breakfast paused for a moment. Elrond had two sons, but she was sure they'd be much older during this period of time, and this boy was definitely not an elf.

"My name's Gemma. What's yours?" she asked the boy, puzzled.

"I am Estel," he answered her, giving her a very proper bow.

Estel? It sounded familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on why. Maybe she'd ask Gandalf later. "It was nice to run into you, Estel. Do you think you could show me where I can get some breakfast? I'm famished."

The small boy stuck out his chest as if Gemma had given him an important quest to fulfill. "Of course, my lady." Estel stuck out his elbow and Gemma laughed. He gave her a wide smile so she bent down and took his arm, allowing him to escort her back the way he'd come.

"Thank you, kind sir," Gemma stuck her nose up in the air and took on an airy, aristocratic tone. "I don't know what would have become of me had you not appeared so suddenly. I think I might have died of starvation right there in the hall, but you have saved me with your gallantry." Estel laughed gleefully at her words, but tried to maintain a stoic posture while leading Gemma to the dining hall.

It did not take them long to reach a small pavilion where Gemma saw a few dwarves already eating. Estel stopped about twenty feet away from the enclosure and whispered, "Ada said I should not bother the dwarves. He says I ask too many questions and dwarves are not known for their patience." The boy dropped Gemma's arm, looking at the four dwarves sitting calmly at the table. "They don't look very scary. Elladan told me they would strangle me with their beards should I get too close." Gemma laughed again loudly.

"They're not so bad, but if Lord Elrond told you not to bother them, it's probably best you run along." Estel's shoulders drooped in disappointment.

Gemma gave him a deep curtsy, her ankle not thanking her for the awkward movement. "I shall be forever in your debt, milord." Estel perked up as Gemma continued their game.

He bowed low and made a grand hand gesture from his head to his heart and then to her. "It is my greatest honor, Lady Gemma." He straightened and his blue eyes twinkled in the sun. They heard someone headed their way from down the path and he gave her a quick wave before running off. "Adorable," Gemma muttered.

She stepped into the pavilion and was overcome with the smell of cooking meat. Her mouth watered; it smelled awfully close to bacon. At the table sat the dwarf with the funny hat, Bombur, the white-bearded dwarf, and one other dwarf with—was that an axe sticking out of his head?! How had she not noticed that before? When they saw her, Bombur waved and the floppy-hatted dwarf stood up. He walked towards her and said, "I've not introduced myself, yet, and Bombur complained at my very poor manners. I am Bofur, at your service." He swept off his hat and bowed.

Gemma gave a slight dip. "And I at yours?" she told him as if it was a question.

He smirked and pointed at the dwarves still sitting down, "You know my brother, Bombur, but that's my cousin, Bifur, and Master Balin, brother of Dwalin—the beefy one that tried to rough you up yesterday."

Gemma nodded and replied with a tad bit of contempt in her tone, "Yes, I remember." Then she sat at the table next to Bifur, saying to Bifur and Balin, "How do you do?"

Bifur replied with a few rough grunts of Khuzdul and Balin said, "Well enough, lass. How did ya' sleep?"

Gemma recalled her nightmare with a shiver, but told him, "Fine, thank you."

"I've made bacon and eggs. Are you hungry, Miss Gemma?" Bombur asked her politely.

"I could eat a horse," she said. They all gave her a funny look.

"Is that a common meal where you come from?" Bofur asked her haltingly.

Gemma smiled, trying to refrain from teasing him. "No, it's just a saying. It means I'm very, very hungry."

"Ah, good," he said, sounding relieved.

"Here ya are." Bombur set a plate of warm, delicious looking food in front of her. She tucked in and the dwarves chatted calmly about elves and their lack of good food, telling Gemma that they'd had to eat only fruit and vegetables the night before. Bifur said something in an angry voice.

"Yes," agreed Bofur, "it was horrid." Gemma rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. She was very grateful for the meal before her.

"Ah, Master Bilbo! There ya' are. We expected you to be the first to wake for breakfast," Balin called to the hobbit that just walked into their dining area. The poor hobbit rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Yes, well, it was nice to sleep in a proper bed again," Bilbo told them.

"How long have you been gone from the Shire, Bilbo?" Gemma asked.

"A little over a month, I think. I can't believe it is already June."

"June?" Gemma coughed, choking on her eggs. Bifur patted her roughly on the back until she stopped choking. "How can it be June?"

"Time flies when you're having fun?" guessed Bofur.

"It was the middle of April when I found the stone. It shouldn't be June," Gemma said, desperately confused.

"You seem awfully sure of what should and shouldn't be, of what can and can't be, for someone who has only been in Middle Earth for two days," Balin told her wisely.

Gemma stopped trying to figure out how she'd lost a month, thinking on Balin's words instead. He was right. She needed to stop trying to place real world logic onto unreal-world happenings. _This is getting a little too mad-hatter-esque for me_, she thought. _'Why is a raven like a writing-desk?' How is Middle Earth different from her Earth?_

While she was trying to decide if she should worry about missing the month of May or if she should just accept it and hope May would be there when she returned home, Thorin and the rest of the company filtered in to sit at the table. Gemma looked up at the increased noise-level, her eyes falling on Thorin first and her nightmare came rushing back to her. The fighting, the dead bodies, the crumbling parapet, the fog that swallowed Thorin so ominously, the eerie voice in her head that whispered, "_unless…_" "Ravenhill," she whispered. Bifur turned to give her a strange look. "Uhmm, sorry," she said, her voice cracking, "gotta find Gandalf." And Gemma walked calmly out of the pavilion and into the main building. Once she was out of sight, she ran into the main group of buildings, hurriedly searching for the meddlesome wizard.

They would die. Thorin had died in the book and it had been sad, but it never bothered her that much before. Now though, that niggling voice in her head kept repeating over and over, "_unless, unless…_," and she had a bad feeling she did not want the voice to finish the rest of that sentence.

**A/N:** Ada means father in elvish. I made a Pinterest board (link in my bio) to show ya'll what Gemma looks like. I also added pins of her outfits and other stuff (including people who I thought looked like I had imagined Gemma's parents would look like) so check it out if you like. The Mad-hatter and his riddle about the raven and the writing-desk is from Alice in Wonderland, which I don't own. This has not been beta'ed so all mistakes are mine, feel free to tell me when you see any! Thanks for reviewing/following/favoriting or for doing all three!

**Lostfeather1**, it took me forever to find someone who I thought looked most like the Gemma in my head and I've decided Q'orianka Kilcher. She's a native actor who has the right bone structure I was looking for. I've seen her in a few movies and I like her a lot. I put some pics of her in my Pinterest board. I tried to do better at describing her in this chapter, but you've found my Kryptonite. I'm just awful at describing faces. Did I do ok? Or is it just super awful?

**miaandB **and** guest**, Mulan is one of THE best Disney movies, hands down. Did you know they're making a live-action version of it? I'm so stoked.

**BloodyTink**, I love Ori so much. It's a constant struggle to not write all of Gemma's dwarven interactions just between her and Ori. He's a cutie-patootie.

Thanks for reading, my apple dumplings!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Branch in the path**

Thorin was not known for his tolerance, as dwarves weren't, and he felt that sleeping under the roof of an elf was asking quite a lot of him. He and the rest of his company were glad to have some sort of respite from their taxing journey, though they'd never admit it. The dwarves chose to sleep in large hall together, not trusting their host enough to be separated into the individual rooms they'd been offered. Bilbo also chose to remain with the company, which surprised Thorin. Bilbo was still a stranger to the dwarves, but he was not entirely unwanted and he'd signed a contract besides.

The hobbit was much more familiar to them than the extra tag-along they'd picked up in the Trollshaws. Thorin had very mixed feelings about Gemma Halvard. He had been so shocked and relieved to see the Arkenstone in her possession, but was aggravated that it had to remain so. He had thought long and hard about how he would manage to keep the stone away from her. Thorin did not wish to hurt Gemma; he owed her a great deal for bringing the stone to him in the first place, but the Arkenstone was his birthright. It was his duty to unite his kin and reclaim his home. The presence of the stone, while extremely fortuitous, created a series of questions along with its keeper. The whole point of their journey was to steal the Arkenstone out from Smaug's nose. Once he had it, he could command dwarven armies to defeat the dragon and Erebor would be ruled by Durin's folk once more. But now, where should they go? They could continue east, traveling past Erebor towards the Iron Hills and call upon his cousin Dain. Or Thorin could lead his men back to the Blue Mountains and retrieve more of his kin there, but then they'd have come all this way for nothing. Either way, it was clear Bilbo's burglary skills were no longer needed.

Thorin was also curious as to how Gemma had come into possession of the Arkenstone in the first place. Something was obviously wrong with it. It only looked like the Arkenstone in her hands and if he had to, he would tote her across the breadth of Middle Earth just to have her make it glow its true colors, not that he wanted to. The sight of the stone when it was that dormant dull white unsettled Thorin and no dwarf would be united under the piece of unwanted rock that it resembling without Gemma holding it. The girl was a puzzle he needed to solve soon. He did not want to stay with the elves any longer than necessary, but he would figure out where to go and what to do before leaving the valley.

He laid on his bedroll, contemplating Gemma and all the questions she'd brought with her. She had mentioned having knowledge of "everything," but surely she was no seer. Although, she'd been right about the Brown Wizard and the orc pack. Maybe she knew how Thorin's journey would end. He didn't know if he should trust the girl enough to ask her and if he did, why should he belief her? His head hurt with all the nuances of trouble Gemma Halvard caused him. Thorin drifted off into a troubled sleep, wondering where the girl was staying, hoping she kept the stone safe.

…

He blinked his eyes open as the first rays of dawn filtered through the large glass panes in the hall where he and the rest of the dwarves slept. Gloin was currently on watch, having taken over for his brother Oin sometime in the night. Safe they may seem, but elves had a penchant for fickle promises. There would remain at least one dwarf on watch the whole time they stayed in Rivendell. He got up silently, nodding at Gloin before walking out of the hall, sword in hand. Surely there would be a decent place to train in this elf-infested place.

After he found a training yard, with a wall of weaponry standing next to it, he went through the motions his father had taught him in his youth. He missed Thrain often, but the pain had dulled over the years, turning into regret. He knew his father was alive. When he reclaimed Erebor, he would have something with which to make his father proud once Thrain returned. No one entered the arena the dwarf was in so he was left to think and train in peace. Thorin spent an hour practicing with the elven blade: Orcrist, Elrond had told him. It fit in his hand nicely. It was well-balanced and very well made for something forged with elvish hands.

Afterwards, on his way back to the hall where most of the dwarves still rested, an elf had been kind enough to show him to a bathing pool nearby. His hair was still damp when he met up with several other dwarves and followed them to find breakfast. They all discussed their mutual disgust of greens and planned to fry some bacon if Bombur had not beaten them to it.

They entered the pavilion where they had poked at their dinner the night before. Balin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bilbo were sitting at the table. Bombur was standing near a fire, tending to something that smelled delicious. The woman, Gemma, sat next to Bifur and Thorin barely recognized her. She wore a long blue gown that fit her well. Her dark hair fell in waves that framed her face and moved in the slight breeze. She was no longer covered in dirt or troll slime. Her forehead was furrowed as she talked with Balin, but she turned towards him when she heard them sit down. Thorin was instantly trapped by her green eyes and he frowned at the lack of purple shining from their depths. Where was the stone? The girl's eyes widened and then she muttered something to Bifur before taking off. Thorin noted the pouch hanging off of her belt, a distinct round shape inside, and he breathed calmly once more. It was better she left anyways, he needed to confer with Balin about what they should do with her and the stone.

* * *

"Ravenhill, Ravenhill," Gemma muttered repeatedly. She couldn't forget this time, but something in her knew she'd never forget even if she wanted to. The dream had been especially violent and gruesome, yet it was the one moment where Thorin had walked into the fog, his blue eyes so determined, that impacted Gemma the most. Every time she thought about, a small burn, not unlike how the Ulunsuti made her feel when it was being magically bothersome, lingered in the center of her chest. She had meant to walk towards where her room was in hopes of finding Annúnel who might then lead her to Gandalf. Gemma turned another corner, deciding she must have passed her room because her surroundings did not look familiar. She kept going down another hall, certain she'd eventually pass someone who might help her. The tapestries that covered the walls were beautiful from what little Gemma glimpsed in her hurry to find the Grey Wizard. There were many statues, flowers and fine filigreed furniture that she was tempted to stop and study, but she hurried on. Holding the hem of her dress up off the ground with one hand and holding the stone close to her body to keep it from hitting her as she walked with the other, she huffed in frustration. About to yell for someone, anyone, in this elven maze of luxuriously decorated halls, she finally spotted someone in an open doorway she had almost walked by. She stopped, peeking into the room.

The room looked like a small office. There were several wooden desks covered in maps, yellowed parchment, and a few books. The figure she'd seen was leaning over a book, a burning candle a little too close to his long hair for safety. Gemma cleared her throat gently. The elf sat up startled and turned, giving her a curious look.

"Uhmm, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm awfully lost," Gemma started, but the elf simply continued to look at her oddly.

"I'm looking for Gandalf. It's important I find him. Do you know where he might be?" She tried again.

The elf tilted his head, rattling off something in elvish she couldn't understand. This time Gemma gave him an odd look. Maybe he _only_ spoke elvish. "Uh, Mithrandir?" she tried again. "I need to find Mithrandir. Ya know, tall wizard, pointy hat," Gemma used her hands to make a point over her head, miming Gandalf's peculiar hat. The elf smiled and nodded. _Ok,_ Gemma thought, _now we're getting somewhere._ The elf stood up, grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door quickly.

If he'd not been holding onto Gemma's hand, she'd be twice as lost as she had been. They went down so many halls and through a ton of doors that Gemma lost count. Just how big was this place? Finally, he stopped in front of a thick cherry-colored door and knocked. A voice that Gemma could not hear called through the door. The elf opened it, saying something in reply. He pulled her through this door as well and presented her to Gandalf, Elrond, and another tall man she did not know, but had a bad feeling about. A tingle zinged up her arm. They sat at a table, Gandalf smoking and Elrond peering over a manuscript. The elf holding her hand said something to the men that were all now looking at them. They laughed then Gandalf told Gemma, "Lútthor says he is still learning to speak the common tongue of men, but your accent is so thick he wouldn't be able to understand you had he'd been speaking it for a hundred years." Gemma blushed profusely, but was somewhat offended at their ridicule.

Gemma crossed her arms and said defensively, "At least I'm not from Boston."

The elf just smiled again before turning to leave. "Wait," Gemma called. He turned back to her, "Uh, hantale…I think." The elf smiled and gave a deep nod before exiting the room.

Gemma looked at the men around the small table while they looked at her expectantly. She fiddle with her thumbs anxiously. "Gandalf, I need to speak to you," she told him nervously.

The wizard took a long pull from his pipe, one bushy grey eyebrow raising in question. "In private, if you don't mind," Gemma went on tersely. Gandalf put out his pipe and tucked it into his robes before standing up, his joints creaking. Lord Elrond gave her a nod as Gandalf led her out of the room with an arm around her shoulder.

"Is something the matter, my dear?" The wizard asked once they have entered a private study. Gemma closed the door.

"Who was that man with you, Gandalf?" Gemma was worried. The man had looked extremely old with long white hair that fell straight past his shoulders. He'd looked at Gemma with dark beady eyes that searched her too intensely for her liking. She held her breath for his answer.

"That is Saruman, but I suspect you knew that already," Gandalf said, leaning his head down to look at her closely.

Gemma shivered and had the distinct urge to vomit. Acid bubbled in her stomach as she whispered, "Yes, I think I did." She was so afraid. Something like this had been beyond what she'd prayed she wouldn't come across in Middle Earth. Trolls? Yes, that was a major awakening into her new reality, but no harm done really. Orcs? Sure, that hadn't really surprised her. There were heaps of orcs in the books. Hang around long enough and they'd find you eventually. Wargs? Those had surprised her, but she'd narrowly escaped with all her limbs and didn't think she'd encounter them again. Evil wizards in league with the Ultimate Bad Guy? Now that Gemma had thought about, fully believing he would remain in Isengard, like he was meant to and Gemma would go about her business peacefully never having to even consider his presence. Yet, here he was, reclining in Rivendell, not two rooms away from her.

"Gandalf, I—he...," she swallowed and tried again. "Did you tell him about me, about the stone?"

"No," he said calmly. Gemma wanted to sob in relief, but simply sighed heavily instead. "Not yet," Gandalf finished.

Gemma's eyes widened and she shook her head violently in disagreement. "No! No, you cannot—must not tell him anything about me."

Gandalf sat down wearily in a leather armchair, "And why not? He might have prudent information about the stone. Saruman is a powerful wizard. He could know how to send you home."

"I don't care," she protested and she really didn't. The White Wizard could be the one person in Middle Earth who knew how to send her home, but Gemma would rather stay here and rot than have anything to do with the evil man. "Gandalf, I will not tell you why, but you must trust me when I say Saruman cannot know who I am or why I am here. He cannot know about the stone."

The Grey Wizard rubbed a wrinkled hand over his tired eyes and said, "I do trust you, Gemma Halvard. Do you trust me?"

Gemma hesitated, "I—it depends on what you will tell the White Wizard."

"I will tell him you are a stray we found in the Trollshaws that was forced to flee with us from the orc pack." Gandalf gave her a small smile, "Which is true enough."

"I'm serious, Gandalf."

He nodded and said, "I swear I will not tell him the truth concerning you or the stone. You have my word. Lord Elrond will follow my lead on this, though he may ask questions later."

"Thank you."

The wizard straightened marginally in his chair. "Now, what did you need to speak to me about, child?"

"Oh! Well, it's very weird…," she tried to begin, but Gandalf chuckled.

"I am beginning to expect only 'weird' things when it comes to you, Miss Halvard."

Gemma huffed, but she agreed with him. Her situation was getting more and more complicated and she did not approve.

"I had this dream of a great battle in a valley. I stood watching it from a stone fortress on a place called Ravenhill, high above the fighting armies. The weird part, though, was this voice speaking in my head. It kept saying 'it was pointless, futile.' Then Thorin, Fili and two others came up the hill. The voice told me it was a trap and I felt very afraid for them. I couldn't tell them to turn around and they disappeared into the fog while the voice told me that they would die, unless…"

Gandalf was looking at her intensely. "Unless what?"

Gemma twisted her hands in frustration. "That's just it. I don't know. It just 'unless…' and then I woke up terrified. I'm still terrified when I think about it, but I don't know why."

Gandalf thought over her words silently. After a few moments, Gemma decided to tell him, "Thorin does die, you know. In the book, he is killed during the Battle of Five Armies and Dain takes over Erebor. It's not even that big of a deal though. His death just sort of happens, Bilbo cries and then it's over. Why would it matter now?"

"Hmm," hummed Gandalf.

"Did you know that Thorin would—will die?"

The wizard took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly and said sadly, "I suspected it was a likely outcome. I became more certain when you told me some of what you knew in the forest after the trolls and Elrond has hinted it is a distinct possibility."

"And you were going to do nothing?" she asked him astounded by his callousness.

Gandalf stood up quickly. He seemed to grow two feet taller, the shadows in the room grew darker, and his voice cowed her. "Do not presume to know my motives or my actions, Gemma Halvard, child from another realm. I am a protector of this world and I will protect it from those who would see it destroyed. Thorin is mortal. He is going to die someday. It is not for me to decide when that is."

Gemma knew he was right, but something told her she could change it. _Unless,_ she thought. _Unless, _agreed the strange voice in her head.

"However," Gandalf began, his tone much lighter now, "It might be for someone _else_ to decide."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like where you're going with this?"

"You are here for a reason, my dear. It is not coincidence that brought you across my path. Be it the Ilúvatar, the Arkenstone, or both, that flung you into Middle Earth, a path has been set."

"What if I don't want to follow it?" she asked timidly.

"Something tells me you don't have a choice."

Gemma closed her eyes and cursed, "Well, fuck."

* * *

After they'd finished eating the morning meal Bombur had made for them, Thorin took Balin aside to a secluded area. "Do you think we should continue on our journey?" he asked the wizened dwarf.

Balin looked taken aback. He opened his mouth to reply to Thorin, but seemed to think better of what he had planned to say so he paused a moment. Thorin watched his old friend and wondered if Balin had been tempted to admonish him.

"Thorin," Balin said calmly, "do you remember what I told you before we left the Shire?"

Thorin nodded. "You told me I had a choice."

"Aye, that I did, and you made your choice. You cannot go back now."

"Balin, we set out to find the Arkenstone and now we have it," Thorin reasoned.

"Do we? Last I saw, that stone laid in the hand of a strange young woman who knows too much for her own good."

"She is but a branch in the path that must be removed before we continue on."

Balin ran a hand through his white beard, "Thorin, without her there is no Arkenstone. Even I can see that there is a connection between her and the stone."

Thorin growled, shifting his feet in irritation. "Yes, but why?"

"Ori told us the story she disclosed to him about the stone falling from a dragon's head."

"Rubbish," scoffed Thorin.

Balin shrugged and muttered, "Maybe."

"You believe her tale?" Thorin asked, appalled.

Balin shrugged again, "No one knows where the Arkenstone came from."

"They found it while mining. It is the Heart of the Mountain!"

Balin held out his hands in supplication, "A tale told in many forms by many people. What makes the lady's story less believable than a miner's?"

Thorin threw up his own hands in disbelief, "So she's a lady now, is she?"

"Thorin, the only reason we're even having this discussion is because of her. She warned us about the wargs, and the orcs. She brought the stone, whether by her will or no. Who knows if she also has the power to take it away?"

"So we take her with us and then what? We call our kin to fight the dragon, we win Erebor, give her a fancy title, and then ask her to stay forever, a human among dwarves?"

"Guardian of the Stone?" Balin said sarcastically.

Thorin rolled his eyes. "And when she grows old and dies, what happens to the stone then? What if she dies on the road to Erebor, before we can even unite our nations? Or if she is kidnapped? She is too much of a risk."

"It's a dangerous business, Thorin, just going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to. There is risk in everything. No one knows the future," Balin paused, then added, "Except maybe Gemma Halvard." Thorin took a deep breath, running a hand across his face.

"She'll have to be protected," Thorin directed, slightly mollified.

Balin smiled slightly, "We can train her up a bit, too."

"We still need answers about the map," Thorin added before the conversation ended.

"Aye, but not from the elves."

* * *

Saruman had left the library—to rest before some meeting, Gandalf told her—where Gemma had found him sitting so quaintly with Elrond and Gandalf like a wolf in sheep's clothing, the wretched bastard. _The deepest circle in hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers,_ she thought angrily. She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that he would get his just deserts, but just knowing he was in the relative vicinity troubled her thoughts. She sat at the table, in Gandalf's spot, waiting for Elrond to finish what he was reading so that they could discuss how to send her home. Gandalf remained standing near an open window, looking out at the trees swaying in the wind.

She rested her head on the table, breathing in the smell of cedar and old ink on even older parchment. Elrond's library was lovely, even if it was slightly tainted with the White Wizard's filth. Earlier, before she'd sat down, she gone straight to a solid shelf laden with thick volumes and scrolls that taunted Gemma. She wanted to run her fingers down the spines and between the pages, but they must be very old. Elrond had offered her one in the common tongue to read, but while the language they spoke sounded like English it certainly did not look like it. Some of the letters looked familiar, but the order they were in made to sense to Gemma. It had made her feel immensely disconnected and homesick. She missed normal people doing normal things. She wanted to be able to walk outside without fearing for her life. She wanted to read her favorite books or play a game on her phone; normal twenty-first century stuff. Middle Earth even felt different, maybe earthier, and Gemma suspected that is was due to the lack of pollution. Ironic that she should miss something she'd tried to hinder all her life; Gemma was a firm believer of recycling.

Finally, Elrond closed his book. Gemma lifted her head from the table and saw Gandalf had sat down in Saruman's old spot.

"Although I do not understand why we cannot consult Saruman," Elrond began, "I do not think he would have any more luck than I am having. I have found nothing helpful concerning the Arkenstone except for varying tales of its origins."

Gemma asked, "Varying? You mean, they don't know where it came from? They just found a random glowing stone and decided to make it the crown jewel?"

"I still think we should consider the possibility that the stone is both the Arkenstone and Gemma's Ulunsuti. The amount of time it was missing matches the amount of time Gemma's family was in possession of it," Gandalf inserted.

"Even if that was true, how does it help send me home?"

"If the stone came from a dragon, perhaps a dragon is who you should ask," Elrond counseled.

"You want me to ask a fucking fire-breathing, man-eating, mountain-stealing dragon how I can get home?" Gemma snapped. "I'll just knock on his front door and say: Mr. Smaug sir, sorry to wake you after 60 years, but please tell me how to use a stone that fell out of your decapitated brethren."

"There's no need for rancor, Miss Halvard," Gandalf reproved.

"There is _plenty_ of need when you tell me you can't send me home, but a giant smoky dragon might be able to. _Might_ being the key word, here. Do you or do you not understand that everyone is in danger the longer I stay here?" Gemma asked, almost shouting at them. "You might as well send Bilbo home right now and then the world will just go to shit that much sooner." Gemma stood up and walked away from the table. If she didn't stop looking at Gandalf's stupid face she'd sock him right in the nose.

Elrond sighed, watching her pace between his bookshelves. "Lady Galadriel will be here in a few days' time, perhaps she will know what to do," the elf told the wizard.

Gandalf hummed in agreement. "Let us hope so, old friend."

**A/N:** As far as I can figure out through tons of googling, 'hantale' means thank you, but please correct me is I'm wrong. If you did not recognize the quote Balin spoke to Thorin about danger, "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to," it's said by Bilbo in Lord of the Rings. The quote Gemma uses when thinking of Saruman, "The deepest circle in hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers," is from Pirates of the Caribbean. I own neither of them. I'm sorry this chapter is so short compared to the others, but I am exhausted and my beautiful bed beckons. This chapter, like always, is un-beta'ed so all mistakes are mine. Let me know if you spot any, pretty please! Thank you so SO so much for all your review/favorites/follows. They mean the world to me!

**lostfeather1**, Gandalf learn to stop meddling? Never.

**Mademoiselle Diablerie**, thank you very much for the correction. It was very much appreciated and I fixed it as soon as I could.

**Gingah18**, I'm glad you did, too!

Thanks for reading, sugar plums!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Preparations **

Lord Elrond had been very generous to her, Bilbo, and the dwarves. He and his house were certainly grander than anything Gemma had expected. She had soon tired of the library, even with its wonderful smell. It was heart-breaking to be in the presence of so many books, of such knowledge, with no way to read them, to obtain said knowledge. She thought Bilbo would like it, though, and she made a mental note to tell him about it the next time she saw him. When she left Gandalf and Elrond in the library, she took no care for which direction she went this time. Gemma was in no hurry to find someone and, with the news that getting home would not actually be as easy as asking an elf for help, she found herself seeking isolation. Unfortunately for Gemma, it is usually when we seek solitude that we are unable to find it.

Gemma had not been walking through the maze-halls long when she took a turn and found herself outside on a high balcony that overlooked a glorious waterfall. She walked up to the railing that bordered the balcony, peering over the edge to look at the rushing water meet a pool of water some thirty feet below. While she was staring at the depths of the pool, a throat cleared loudly behind her causing her to jump. Gemma whirled around. Thorin sat casually balanced on the balustrade, his back against the wall where the railing met the stone. His left leg was bent at the knee, laying on the thick banister, and his right hung down not quite touching the floor. If it had been Bilbo or Ori in such an aristocratic pose, Gemma would have giggled and teased them mercilessly, but Thorin made a striking figure with the sun glinting off pieces of metal on his belt and his dark hair swept back by the calm breeze. His blue eyes did not leave her face as Gemma stared at him in surprise. He was quite handsome, Gemma realized, and he was destined to die. She shook that thought out of her head. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.

Thorin broke his gaze, looking out toward the skyline. "I came here to think." His reply was simple, but Gemma thought he sounded as if thinking was something painful for him. She continued to stare at him, even after he looked away.

"About what?"

He took a moment to reply and then looked at the pouch hanging from her belt. "About you," and Thorin nodded his head towards her pouch, "and about the gem in your possession."

Gemma sighed lightly, "That's funny. I was thinking about the exact same things."

He looked at her face, trying to discern if her tone was mocking him or disparaging of herself. "You confuse me, Miss Halvard."

Gemma snorted. "You're not the only one that feels that way, especially in this place. If it makes you feel better, there has not been a moment since I arrived in Middle Earth that I have not been confused myself."

Thorin smirked. "You do seem awfully out of place."

She laughed sardonically, "I have never been so out of place in my entire life."

"Is your world truly so different?" he asked, a small scowl forming.

"You have no idea. I wouldn't even know how to begin describing the differences between this world and mine." Gemma sounded almost mournful and Thorin felt a little guilty he'd asked.

"And yet the Arkenstone was in your world. It brought you here," he told her.

"Yes," Gemma agreed, "It did." She turned from him and sat on the ground, tucking her feet beneath her, her back resting against the center of the railing. "Lord Elrond thinks," Gemma began tentatively, "that the Arkenstone and the Ulunsuti are one in the same."

Thorin sighed heavily, "Balin thinks that as well."

"And what do you think?"

The dwarf pinched the top on his nose between his fingers as if warding off a migraine. "I think I must consider all possibilities."

Gemma shifted her legs restlessly, "Don't you mean _we_ must consider them? If the stone is the Arkenstone _and_ the Ulunsuti then it belongs to both of us. I understand the claim you have over the Arkenstone, but just as it is your birthright, the Ulunsuti is mine."

"Ori told the rest of us the tale you told him about the dragon and the magic stone your people found after it died."

"Good," she said with some derision in her tone, "I'm tired of having to tell that story, even if I'm starting to believe it's more than just a tale."

"Suppose it is true," Thorin started, "And the stone in your pouch is both of ours to claim, what will you do?"

Gemma put her face in her hands. "I don't know," she told him, her voice muffled.

Thorin shifted closer to hear her over the sound of the water rushing towards the ground. "You told Gandalf that you knew things, important things."

Gemma looked up at him still sitting on top on the ledge, but a few feet closer to her. "I did," she said hesitantly.

"Do you know what the Arkenstone is to me, what is it to my people?"

Gemma frowned, but told him, "I know what you think it is. I know why you think it's important."

Thorin's brow furrowed. "Are you deflecting the question on purpose?"

"I…" Gemma took a deep breath. "Honestly, I don't know how much I should tell you."

Thorin swung his leg off of the barrier and hopped to the ground. He landed with a solid thud, taking two steps to reach Gemma's side. He stood right in front of her and said, "So you do know the future."

Gemma was afraid to say yes, but did not want to say no. She had thought she knew his future, and his past, too, if you wanted to be technical, but her dream about the battle had turned what she thought she knew onto its head. In the Trollshaws, Gemma had realized that Thorin Oakenshield, a real, living person, would die a regrettable, but honorable death. Now, however, he _might_ die. If his fate rested in her hands like Gandalf had not-so-subtly hinted, his death was probable, but no longer absolute. "I think," Gemma swallowed thickly, "I think I know of a possible future, but nothing is set in stone."

"And nothing is set about our stone," Thorin replied sarcastically after a moment.

Gemma gave a 'hmph', not entirely amused by his statement. She thought about the possible outcomes of her actions. If Elrond could not give her answers, there really was only one other option she could think of, even if it scared the shit out of her. "If you take me with you to Erebor, I think I could help you." Thorin opened his mouth, but Gemma stopped him, "I have stipulations, though."

"Erebor?" Thorin said angrily, still staring down at her. "Who told you of Erebor?"

"Didn't we just talk about me knowing the future? I know about your home and the dragon that took it from you. I know about the Arkenstone, about where it sat, about its former owners. Now that I think about it, I think I can safely say I know more of your past than of your future so you can stop all of your suspicious questioning," she finished with a huff.

Thorin rubbed his chin, his eyes wide. "Is it the stone that has told you this or are you a seer?"

She thought for a moment. It would be a lot easier to tell him this little fib then to explain the true origins of her knowledge. She didn't think he'd take being called a 'fairy-tale creature' well. "A little of both, I suppose. The stone told me about the wargs and the orcs before, but I knew the rest before I had the Ulunsuti."

"And how does that work exactly, the stone telling you these things?" Thorin asked skeptically.

She frowned, also skeptical. It was pretty ridiculous. Magic stones and dwarves and knowing the future. "Gandalf said it was looking for a release, like an outlet, of its powers. He said it asks and I must answer, which is pretty much what it feels like. It made me pull it out and use it so I said some words and poof! this vision ran through my head and I just knew what was gonna happen." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ears before saying, "It would have been nice if it could have told me sooner though. Those things got way too close for comfort."

Thorin hummed in agreement, considering her words carefully. "Does the stone tell you to go to Erebor?"

She nodded. "In a way, yes."

"What is it that you hope to find there?" he inquired distrustfully. "Why should we take a defenseless human girl across the Misty Mountains?"

Gemma stood up at his words, angry that he did not trust her. "I am not defenseless," she told him stubbornly, hands on her hips. "I need answers. I need to find a way home. That is all I want." Thorin scoffed and turned away from her. "Look," demanded Gemma sternly. "We want the same thing. I want to go home and you want to go home. We both need the stone to do that. Once I figure out how to get home, you can keep the stone and I'll be out of your hair. We'll both get what we want." She did not tell him that Smaug was the one with possible answers. Gemma figured that would be a deal-breaker for Thorin. There were a lot of reasons why he would have a problem with that part. The voice in her head tried to tell her that it wasn't Smaug that would solve her problems, but Ravenhill, yet Gemma refused to listen to it. She would go home and if she happened to save Thorin's life before doing that, bully for her. If not, Gandalf was right; he'd die anyways. Her stomach twisted at that thought and she tried not to feel guilty.

Thorin paced across the balcony for a few minutes. He had agreed with Balin earlier; Gemma was necessary to their journey because the Arkenstone was necessary and one could not come without the other apparently. Still, she looked so fragile, so breakable. Thorin's fate rested within her palms, more than he even realized.

"Alright." He stopped pacing and looked into her green eyes. "You mentioned stipulations?"

Gemma smiled. She was slightly relieved he had capitulated even though she would have found a way to go with them regardless of what he said. "Yes." Gemma straightened her shoulders and said seriously, "I require your trust Thorin Oakenshield. If I tell you something, you must believe me. I have no ulterior motives. I want nothing else but to return to my home, to my world. You cannot continue being suspicious of me all the time." Thorin crossed his arms defiantly and Gemma rolled her eyes. "I get that we're complete strangers, but the next time the stone tells me an orc pack is around the corner, you have to listen to me. I will not be shish-kabobbed just because you're a stubborn asshole."

Thorin smirked, "Shisk-kabobbed?"

"Ugh." _Language-barriers_, she thought acerbically. "It means skewered."

"Ah, anything else then?"

Gemma nodded. "Bilbo has to come, too."

"The burglar?" Thorin frowned. "His skills are no longer needed. With the Arkenstone, his contract is null and void."

"Then make another one. If Bilbo stays then I stay and if I stay, the stone stays."

Thorin glared menacingly. "The Arkenstone is mine."

Gemma shrugged as if she didn't care, "And the Ulunsuti is mine. We've played this game already. You must trust me when I say that Bilbo is important to your quest."

Thorin stared at the ground angrily, as if he was trying to pierce a hole into it with his glare.

Gemma waited for an answer, but when none came she said softly, "He will change the world, Thorin." He lifted his head, pointing his hard glare at her instead. "If you leave Bilbo Baggins here, you have damned us all," Gemma beseeched him.

Thorin's glare softened. "What do you know?"

Gemma shook her head, a fierce look in her eye. "If I told you, it could do just as much damage as leaving Bilbo behind."

Thorin seemed to take her words into consideration. He had been looking forward to relieving Bilbo of his fourteenth share of the gold beneath Erebor, but if he took Gemma with them then surely gaining the Arkenstone was worth the price. The dwarf nodded once then held out his hand. "I agree to your terms, Gemma Halvard."

Gemma looked at his large hand in front of her, wondering if she really knew what she was getting herself into. Gemma took his hand, feeling his rough, but warm fingers tighten over her own. His hand was so much bigger than hers, she noticed, it swallowed her own.

Thorin pulled her forward gently and said with a sneaky grin, "But you'll learn how to fight as well."

She blinked, still thinking about the way her hand felt in his. "What?"

He let go and turned around, walking towards the entrance of the balcony. Before he left her sight completely, he called out, a mischievous look still on his face, "You'll begin training after supper tonight."

"Training?" she squeaked, but he was already gone. What kind of training, she wondered. Gemma leaned back over the railing of the balcony, wishing the spray of the waterfall could reach her face. She had a feeling she'd made a deal with the devil. And though Thorin had no idea, Gemma knew that they were both in way over their heads.

…

Gemma remained on the balcony for some time. She thought about everything she would need to take with her: lots of food, medical supplies, clothes, a weapon, and perhaps some money. There was a lot to do and she wasn't sure how long they could stay in Rivendell. She hoped Elrond would donate some of those goods to her cause. If not she might have to get them along the way and she knew that there wouldn't be another 'safe' stopping place until they reached Beorn and his house. Between Rivendell and there, though…Gemma shivered away from that thought. She'd worry about it when they were closer to that particular event. Maybe they could even avoid it all together.

She also thought about the stone and her mother's words that she'd recited. It was obviously the feelings Gemma associated with the words that drew the power out of it rather than the words alone. As if thinking about stone had summoned it, she felt a tiny flicker of fire curl in her palms. She waited for it to grow, but nothing else happened. _Huh_.

Gemma untied the pouch from her belt, taking the stone from its cover. It glowed within her hand instantly, which she expected. The slow familiar burn in her hand flared for a moment then dropped to a low steady level. It stayed that way, sitting calmly in her grasp as she stared at it trying to make it flare again. She tried telling it what to do in her mind. _Show me how to get home_, she commanded. Nothing happened. _Show me the future_, she tried again. She thought of her mother some more. "Do you like poetry?" she asked it snidely. "This is stupid. I'm talking to a pebble, expecting it to answer me." The purple glow of the stone shimmered abruptly, as is twinkling in response. Ok, what the hell. She'd try more Norse then, like last time. Gemma cleared her throat and opened her mouth, but she cut herself off before she could say anything and sat down quickly. Seeing the future has not been very pleasant, she remembered, it had taken its toll. No use knowing what's going to happen if she cracked her head open on the pavement before she could tell anyone about it.

She leaned against the wall, looking down at the stone nestled in her hands as they laid in her lap. She thought of her mother, of her perfume lingering in Gemma's bedroom. She thought of her mother's brown hair wrapped around her tiny fingers as she watched her mother's lips wrap around strange words, and said, "The gods in Ithavoll meet together. Of the terrible girdler of earth they talk, and the mighty past they call to mind, and the ancient runes of the Ruler of Gods."

Just like before, the burning in her hand flared and raced to her heart as she said the words. She felt as if she would burst from the feeling of pulsing warmth that filled her chest. Once she began, she could not stop. It urged her on, demanding she finish what she started. She had to answer the stone's call. She'd completed the verse and images flashed through her mind swiftly, but there was no sense of urgency behind the scenes in her mind this time. It hurt less, too, like only one or two nails were being driven into her skull instead of a whole slew of them.

She saw Elrond, Gandalf, and Saruman sitting around a stone table on a terrace outside. A black sword, the Morgul blade Radagast had brought to Gandalf from Dol Guldur, lay uncovered on the table. A beautiful shining lady in white watched the trio of men from a few feet away. She stood near the edge of the terrace, her white blonde hair waving in the wind. Gemma couldn't make out what the White Wizard was saying to the other two so she focused on the elven lady. She shined as if starlight lingered beneath her skin. The lady's long white gown looked to be made of white fire and her hair was woven with moonlight. Galadriel, Gemma realized. This was Galadriel; Lady of Light, indeed. The lady seemed to turn, as if she could sense Gemma watching her. Gemma was watching her face when Galadriel looked up and Gemma felt as if the lady was staring into her soul. "_Welcome, Keeper of the Stone_," the lady whispered inside Gemma's head and Gemma came out of the vision as if hit by a train, seeing the stone pavement rushing towards her face.

Her head hit the ground and she let out a low pain-filled groan. Next time she was doing this in a soft, pillowed bed. The burn left her chest and hovered softly in her hand where her skin touched the stone as if waiting to be released once more. Gemma sat up slowly, putting the stone back into the pouch. She would definitely need to sleep before she attempted that again. So…Galadriel was coming to Rivendell, then. Gemma didn't know what to make of this. Did that happen in the story? How much would change in Gemma's Middle Earth from the Middle Earth's she'd read about? Was it changing because of Gemma or did Tolkien forget something?

"Gemma, what are you doing in the dirt?"

Gemma looked up to see Annúnel giving her a curious look from the doorway and tried to come up with a good excuse. She let herself down when her reply was, "Uhmm, I fell?"

The elf laughed softly and walked towards her, holding out a hand. Gemma took it with a quick "thanks" and her friend led Gemma to find some lunch.

…

"Annúnel?" Gemma started.

"Hmm?" the elf answered softly as they walked.

"I am going on a long journey and did not come prepared. Do you think Lord Elrond would let me borrow some supplies?"

Annúnel patted Gemma's shoulder reassuringly. "He has already called for preparations to be made. After lunch, we will visit a seamstress." Gemma sighed in relief. "He also requested I take you to see the Master of Armaments, but I wasn't sure if you would feel comfortable doing so."

Gemma shrugged, "I'll need a way to defend myself. My father taught me how to hunt with a bow when I was younger, but it's been a while since I've practiced."

"I'm sure we can find something suitable, but first, lunch. A young knight told me he was looking forward to eating with a proper lady," the elf said with a fond smile on her face.

Gemma laughed, remembering the young boy she'd met before breakfast. "Estel is most magnanimous," she said snootily, causing Annúnel to burst out a laugh of her own.

"Lord Elrond's ward is a hand-full, but he's a good boy, if not a bit of a rascal."

They'd reached the lower level of the house and Gemma could smell something delicious that made her stomach growl. Before they reached the dining hall, Gemma asked her friend, "Estel, what does that mean?"

The lady smiled and simply said, "Hope."

"Hope?" Gemma repeated. They entered the room filled with several long tables. Many elves were scattered here and there sitting and talking with one another.

"Ah. There he is," Annúnel said, pointing to a boy with long dark hair waving ecstatically at them.

"Estel means hope," Gemma muttered and wanted to groan at her stupidity. _Of course Aragorn would be here_, she thought, frustrated at herself. How had she not realized it before? What other important things would she—had she—missed?

They sat across from the small boy who started chatting immediately about what he'd been up to since Gemma had last seen him. Gemma watched him bounce up and down excitedly as he told them about training with his sword and playing hide and seek with his brother, Elrohir, and seeing a small rabbit by the fountain and "Have you ever pet a rabbit, Lady Gemma?" and how his favorite lunch contained blueberries, but the stew they were eating was good enough and maybe they could play after lunch and he could show them his favorite tree.

Gemma just sat there listening, replying when need be, slightly overwhelmed by the speed at which he could talk. She was having trouble connecting this adorable kid with chubby cheeks to the hardened ranger he would grow up to be. Gemma was beyond happy that she got a chance to meet him. He was kind and considerate even for a child. She wished for a moment that he could stay like this, stay innocent and protected, obsessing over rabbits and blueberries forever. Had she ever been this lively and excited about the small wonders of the world?

The three of them finished eating and went out to the fountain where Estel had seen the rabbit. When they couldn't find it, Annúnel told Estel that they had to get Gemma some new clothes and he eagerly followed. Asking questions about why she needed new clothes and was it because she grew out of them because Ada was always complaining when _he_ grew out of _his_ clothes. Gemma and teased him, telling him he'd be the tallest knight to be sung about once he finished growing. Estel seemed perfectly fine with that legacy.

They reached the seamstress and Gemma was measured from head to toe while her elven friend told the stern lady holding the measuring string what Gemma needed. Gemma made sure to tell the lady that breeches were required and Annúnel suggested thick material for horse-back riding. It took longer than Estel had patience for so he went off in search of another adventure with a wave. Annúnel was dragging Gemma out of the seamstress's shop as Gemma called out a "Thank you!" never even realizing Gemma hadn't gotten her name.

The Master of Armaments was waiting for them in a room on the other side of the row of buildings that made up the market-like place in Rivendell. They had not given the seamstress any money, but Annúnel told her they traded in goodwill and faith rather than monetary means which Gemma thought that meant they only took as much as they gave back. On their way to find her a bow or some other weapon, they happened across Bilbo who'd been wondering in and out of the stalls and buildings looking at everything curiously.

"Hello, Miss Gemma!" He called kindly, not too far off.

"Hello, Bilbo. How's your morning been?" Gemma asked when they reached him. Bilbo had had a fine morning indeed. He'd had tea before lunch, which he had not been able to do for a month, and then been wondering around the valley, chatting with the very nice elves he'd encountered.

Gemma introduced him to Annúnel, who seemed very interested in the Hobbit. She asked him about the Shire and Gemma listened to the two reminisce about plants until they reached a blacksmith. Bilbo stopped there saying something about his sword and Annúnel led her next door to get her a proper bow.

The Master of Armaments was more talkative than the seamstress. He asked Gemma about the bow she'd learned to shoot with and the type of wood and string it had been made of. They soon found her something similar. It was about as twice as long as her arm, curving very slightly. The string, Annúnel told her afterwards, was made from elven hair. It was made from a light-colored wood with little in the way of decorative carving except for the outline of three little birds, wings outstretched, at one end of the bow. She'd also been given a light-weight quiver that held several arrows made from the same kind of wood. When Gemma had thanked him profusely, he handed her a small knife, no longer than her forearm, which could be hidden under her sleeve when she wore the proper clothes.

After getting her clothing and means of defense out of the way, Gemma was so relieved to not have to worry about finding them somewhere else that she'd forgotten what Thorin had told her she'd have to do after dinner.

**A/N: **First, let me say apologize for this chapter. It's definitely not my best and I'm not at all happy with it, but I wanted to post something since I missed my usual posting of every-other-day due to my awful living situation. I had a super shitty weekend and my heart wasn't in it at all, but on the plus-side, in an attempt to escape from my sorrows, I watched the whole first season of Daredevil and Marco Polo on Netflix. They were amazing and I highly recommend them, but I will warn you that they both have a lot of gore and super dark moments. They also both feature an old blind man teaching the protagonist Kung Fu, which I thought was a weird coincidence. Anyways, I'm really sorry that you had to wait for this chapter. I tried to make up for it with the Thorin/Gemma interaction. Let me know if it worked out ok. When I re-read it, I can see my emotions and exhaustion leaking over into my writing and I tried to scrape as much of my slimy, gross sadness as I could, but I'm not sure if I was effective. I'll do better on the next chapter, I swear. I love you all, don't give up on me. As always, this is not beta'ed so all mistakes are mine. Shout out if you see something.

To **OakenFig3**, woah. I don't even have the words to tell you how much that means to me. I work/ed so hard to make Gemma a real character. I really wanted her to have a background that would motivate her in such a way that she can survive in this world, even reluctantly. I needed her to not be white. I'm sick of white OCs with no actual character of sense of self that just accept what's happening without motives of their own. My grandmother's Cherokee and told me stories all the time and I thought using those legends to bolster Gemma's world, making them come true to could be really fun. I have a lot of fun with Gemma when she's running her mouth. I try to keep her reigned in, but she gets super sassy when she's scared and angry and it makes me laugh. You guys seem to like it so I'm trying to incorporate it more. And about Thorin, I also tried really hard to not make this into a story where he's a complete jerk to her, but then they fall in love so it's all ok. I'm not about that at all. Thorin's an asshole yes, but he's got to have some loveable qualities for Gemma to find redeeming. She's not some simpering wall-flower that would just feint at Thorin's feet after he yells at her. This isn't love-at-first-glare. You're review made me so happy. We're now officially best friends. I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter, sorry (not sorry).

Ok, precious acorn babies, leave me a review and thanks to all who faved/followed/reviewed so far!

Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Quick thing**: I forgot to mention that what Gemma quoted last chapter was from the _**Völuspá **_of the Poetic Edda. So sorry! Now, on with the show.

**Chapter Nine: No rest for the weary**

Annúnel left Gemma to her own devices so that she could tend to some of her other duties and Gemma was glad for the reprieve. She liked her new friend very much, but Annúnel set a quick pace. Gemma knew that the elf was just trying to help her prepare quickly since neither of them knew when Gemma and the dwarves would have to leave, but her feet hurt from walking on stone paths without shoes all day. While Annúnel had assured Gemma that her boots would be cleaned by the time she got back to her room, Gemma knew that the blisters forming on her soles would pain her regardless. The use of the stone's magic earlier had worn her out as well and Gemma hoped she could spend all of tomorrow in bed.

Gemma found a wooden bench sitting beside one of the paths that led away from the market stalls and sat down with a muffled groan. She still had the bow and quiver of arrows she'd gotten from the Master of Armaments and she laid them gently on the ground next to her feet. The knife he'd given her had gone straight into Gemma's pouch with the stone, lest she cut herself caring it around. Gemma took a moment to enjoy the stillness of the area around her. The trees were thick along the path and they shut her away from sounds and sights. She could hear the distant chirping of birds in the branches far above her head. Taking a deep breath, Gemma inhaled the earthy smell of dirt and plants. The nature surrounding her here comforted her much more than in the Trollshaws, for good reason, too. It wasn't just the lack of trolls, though, that made Rivendell more peaceful. There was something in the air, be it magic or a lack of evil or whatever, that made Gemma's heart warm and calm. She could understand why Bilbo would choose not to leave after coming here a second time, especially after holding onto an evil-possessed ring for sixty years.

Although the trees, or even the flowers, weren't anything like the ones from home, just the sound of wind filtering through their leaves, a gentle music of its own, was enough for Gemma to find contentment on that bench. She'd lost track of the amount of time she'd spent simply sitting, watching her toes make designs in the dirt beneath the bench as the wind rustled her hair. Gemma tried not to think of her impending trek across Middle Earth or the sense of doom that tried to overwhelm her senses anytime her mind wandered to thoughts of the future weeks to come. The next time she lifted her eyes to look at the sky, the sun had dropped further in the sky than she realized. Gemma was contemplating on whether she should get up or wait until someone came looking for her when the option was taken out of her hands.

A soft rustle of fabric as Elrond sat next to her on the bench was all the warning Gemma received before she noticed his presence. She turned to look at him, giving him a small smile that he returned, before dropping her gaze to her feet once more. They sat there in silence for a few moments and had it been Gandalf next to her, he'd have pulled out his pipe already. Gemma sighed quietly. "I'm guessing you didn't find anything else about the stone."

Elrond shook his head, but Gemma didn't see it so he said softly, "Nothing of note."

Gemma nodded, still twirling her toes in the dirt. Elrond laid a hand on her shoulder and Gemma looked up. His eyes looked concerned as he told her, "I fear for you, Gemma Halvard. I have seen some of what troubles you. Despite what the wizard tells you, you do have a choice."

Gemma, though grateful he cared, was not reassured by his words. "If I don't go with them to Erebor, is there somewhere else that can tell me how to get home?" she asked the elf sternly.

He took his hand back. "I am sorry I could not help you find what you seek, but I was too hasty in my council earlier. Dragons cannot be reasoned with and Smaug even less so." He paused and Gemma waited for him to continue. "You are welcome to stay here, in my home, should you wish it." Elrond grinned slightly, "Estel told me about how he saved a dark-skinned princess from starving to death this morning. He would be overjoyed should you stay."

Gemma was stunned. Stay in Rivendell? What a thought. Sure, Bilbo had done it—would do it, sort of, but Gemma had never considered actually staying herself. She took a deep shaky breath, a hint of… lavender perhaps, was now in the air. She could stay with the elves, watch them remain unchanged as she grew old and wrinkled. Estel would grow up and leave soon, but maybe if she was lucky she would see the Fellowship. She would see Gloin and Bilbo again, possibly get to meet the other heroes of Middle Earth before they left Rivendell and her behind to save the world. It would be so easy to just stay, to let this world pass her by as she did nothing but enjoy the wonders of the valley. Could she let it happen though, knowing how things played out? Gemma didn't think she could simply wait to grow old and die while others, people she now knew, risked their lives to defend their home. _A home_, something Gemma would abandon if she stayed. There was nothing for her in Imladris but a lifetime of regrets and displacement.

"It means a lot that you would offer me a place in your home, but I cannot stay. I don't belong here even if the offer is sorely tempting." She gave him a wide smile and went on, "I don't think you could handle me _and_ Estel being in Rivendell for too long anyways."

The elf chuckled. "Regardless of how you feel, you are always welcome here."

Gemma tilted her head and asked curiously, "Why?"

He smirked and said, "Perhaps it is because you keep the boy out my hair."

Gemma snorted and muttered, "Not for long," thinking of Estel's endless amount of energy.

"The Valar brought you to Middle Earth for a reason, Miss Halvard, and I would ensure your safety here if I could. However, you must choose your own path; your fate is your own."

"It doesn't feel that way. I did not choose to come here," she said a little resentfully.

He shifted his weight on the bench. "Did you not? What did you wish for when you touched the stone? What was your heart longing for before you landed in the Trollshaws? An escape, perhaps? A way to change something you had no control over?"

Gemma stared at him. Elrond was too insightful for Gemma's peace of mind. "How do you…?"

The elf shrugged slightly. "I've had many years to experience the matters of the heart and I look closely at all who enter the valley. It is mine to protect, just as the stone is now yours." He pointed at her pouch.

Gemma looked around at the trees beside her and whispered, "With great power comes great responsibility."

"Just so," agreed Elrond.

She thought about her dream again. "Do you know what happens when the dwarves reach Erebor?"

"I have seen glimpses into Thorin's future, but you've changed the possible outcomes. His ending is now clouded in my mind."

Gemma shuddered at the weight of that particular burden and asked him, "If I told you that they will need your help, would you help them?"

Elrond seemed to hesitate before answering, "If I can defend Middle Earth against its foes, I will do so."

Gemma nodded. "A great battle will happen after…we reach Erebor. Orcs, trolls, goblins, and all the other gross monsters try to take the mountain and many people will die. I think it might make a large difference should you bring people to help defend a significant seat of power in the East."

Elrond rubbed his forehead wearily. "This…will make a difference?"

"Yes, it…the mountain—ugh. This whole knowing the future thing sucks." Gemma sighed heavily.

"I understand, I think. Do you know when the mountain will be attacked?"

Gemma shook her head in frustration, "Not exactly, but it happens soon after Durin's Day."

Elrond nodded and stood up. "I will see what help I may be."

Gemma looked up at him and nodded as well. "I understand, thank you." She stood up from the bench and Elrond offered her his elbow. Gemma grabbed her new bow and quiver from the ground, putting them over her shoulder before taking his arm and they started walking down the path. "Please don't tell anyone, though," she implored.

Elrond patted her hand in reassurance, something elves seemed fond of doing. "I know the importance of silence in these matters."

Gemma scowled, "Yes, I'm sure you do."

Elrond raised his eyebrow at her expression. "It does get easier, with time," he told her.

Her scowl deepened. "Keeping secrets? I hope so. It's difficult to keep track of who knows what and who _should_ know what."

"We all must bear our burdens."

"But some are heavier than others," she inserted.

Elrond merely nodded and they kept walking until they entered a small courtyard. He led her through it and down a path branching to the left until Gemma heard loud voices not far away. She grinned at the familiar sounding ruckus. "Foisting me off onto another party, then?"

The elf chuckled lightly. "I merely thought you'd enjoy the company of a more…lighthearted group." Gemma heard loud bursts of laughter.

"Well, they do sound like they're having fun," she said and they heard loud crash of wood breaking.

Elrond frowned, "Indeed."

Gemma just shook her head in exasperation and withdrew her arm from his. "Thank you, Lord Elrond."

He bowed his head slightly and left after saying, "Until tomorrow, Gemma Halvard."

Gemma was welcomed into the small pavilion where she'd eaten breakfast with a few shouts of greeting from some of the dwarves, the ones whose mouths weren't occupied with food or laughter. She sat down besides Bilbo who was sitting a little off to the side, trying his best to avoid the bits of bread and meat the dwarves were throwing at each other. The crash she'd heard earlier looked to be from a poor squashed and broken table that Bombur still sat on top of, munching happily away on a sausage. Bofur and Bifur sat close to a fire, the latter attempting to roast some very green kale. Thorin and Balin were missing from the feast, she noticed.

Bilbo handed her a plate with what looked like grapes and half a loaf of bread on it. "I think the rest of the food has been claimed," he said guiltily. Gemma took it gratefully.

"Thanks Bilbo, this'll tide me over until tomorrow." He gave her a disbelieving look, his wide eyes making her giggle.

"Trust me, I don't have a hobbit's endless pit of a stomach," she told him with a wink. Bilbo blushed and muttered something about not even having dinner after supper. Then the hobbit noticed her uncovered feet.

"Where are your boots?" he asked, sounding distraught. "Your feet are so small!" He leaned closer to peer at Gemma's feet. "And your soles are so thin! How did you walk all day without shoes?"

Gemma smiled warmly at his concerned. "Bilbo, my feet are fine. One day without shoes won't kill me. I'll wear them tomorrow, don't worry."

Bilbo looked ready to protest, but before he could, Kili plopped down next to her, wine spilling from the cup in his hand. It nearly missed her head and she let out a noise of disapproval, scooting away from him. "Watch it," she said.

"Sorry 'bout my brother," Fili said, walking over to the trio. He rubbed Kili's head, messing up his hair, "He's clumsy around women."

Kili scoffed and pushed Fili's hand away.

"Where is your uncle?" Gemma asked the pair, ignoring Fili's teasing.

Kili looked around the group of dwarfs, noticing for the first time Thorin wasn't there. "How'd you know Thorin was our uncle?"

Gemma smirked, "Don't you remember? I know things."

"What kind of things?" Bilbo piped up.

"All kind of things," she said mysteriously.

Fili laughed and said, "You don't know anything."

Gemma was not particularly competitive, but she did not like being dismissed so easily so she said, "Ask me something you don't think I would know then."

The three men sat thinking for a moment, interested in her challenge.

"What's my favorite color?" Kili tested.

Gemma rolled her eyes and said, "Blue."

Kili's eyes widened, "Lucky guess."

She just plopped a grape in her mouth and chewed silently.

Fili hit his brother upside his head, "Your cloak's blue, you idiot." Kili looked down at said cloak, blushing, and Gemma snickered.

"She did know I was from the Shire," Bilbo told them tentatively. Gemma nodded, preferring this train of thought. "Do you know where in the Shire I live?"

"You live," Gemma said pointedly, "In Hobbiton, in a lovely hole at the end of Bagshot Row named Bag End."

Bilbo's mouth opened, but he didn't say anything so Gemma went on. "And, if I remember correctly, you'd just painted your door a nice green before Gandalf went and carved a sigil into it."

The hobbit looked stunned. "What else do you know?" he asked her.

"I know that you weren't prepared for a troop of dwarfs to come around for tea," Gemma looked at the brothers who were watching her curiously, "but really, who would be. You weren't prepared to find a strange wizard on your doorstep either, yet you remembered his fireworks. Most of all, though, you weren't prepared to be conscripted into going to steal from a dragon, making you forget your handkerchiefs."

Oin and Gloin were sitting closest to Gemma and the three others who sat listening to her speak. They overheard what she'd said about Bilbo being asked to steal from a dragon and they shuffled closer her to hear what else she had to say. "How did you know that?" Kili asked suspiciously.

Gemma shrugged and said smugly, "I just do."

"Bullshit," Fili said with a grin spreading across his face. "She's leadin' us on."

Bilbo coughed loudly at hearing the dwarf swear in the presence of a lady, but Gemma didn't seem to mind. "Alright," Kili remarked. "Do me then."

Gemma gave him a funny look until he blushed again. "You know what I mean," he mumbled.

"What did I say?" Fili teased. "You're worse than Ori, falling over yourself and blushing like a tomato in front of a girl."

Oin and Gloin chortled while Gemma giggled at Kili's reddening face. "Oh, get on with it already," Kili told her.

Gemma pursed her lips in thought. "Hmm…Ok, your mother's name is Dis. You're Thorin's heir, after Fili, of course, and you've never seen Erebor. You were born in the Blue Mountains. You're good with a bow and are usually the one Thorin sends to scout ahead because you're eyes are the youngest, but I suspect after you and Fili lost the ponies he won't be so keen to do so next time."

It was Fili's turn to blush at the reminder of that particular mishap.

"Do you know these things because of the Arkenstone?" Oin asked before Kili could come up with a retort.

Gemma shook her head, "Not really."

"Are you a seer?" Bilbo inquired. Gemma thought on that for a minute. Thorin had asked her that as well, but if she was going to go along with it she might as well make it her own.

"In my world," Gemma started, "you might call me a _spákona_ or a _spae-queen_, though these are similar to a seer."

"A spae-queen?" said a voice behind her. Gemma turned to look and noticed the rest of the company had been listening to her 'bullshit'. This time she blushed. Maybe it wasn't the smartest decision to boast about her knowledge in front of the very people whose fate she hoped to change.

"So you're royalty then?" asked Ori quietly.

Gemma's eyes widened and she shook her head in protest. "No—"

"You didn't say you were a queen of your United States!" proclaimed Dori.

"That's because I'm not—," she tried to explain.

"So you're married to the king then?" asked Bofur and he waggled his eyebrows. "What's he like?"

Gemma huffed in agitation, "I'm not married! I'm only twenty-three, for goodness sake."

"Twenty-three? Years? You're just a child," exclaimed Gloin.

"I'm not a child! Humans age faster than dwarves, thank you very much," Gemma argued.

"Still, very young to be a queen," declared Bombur and they all nodded in agreement.

Gemma did not like where this was going. "I didn't say I was a queen. The word is _spae_-queen. There's a difference," she insisted, but the majority of them had stopped paying attention. They were all talking amongst themselves about dessert and the proper age of queens. It was only Fili and Bilbo who stayed by her side so she told them desperately, "I'm not a queen or any sort of royalty, I swear. I just know things."

Bilbo nodded and sweetly told her, "I believe you."

Fili grinned and said, "I know you're not a queen."

Gemma looked at him, confused. "You do?"

"Yeah, you curse too much to be a queen," he told with a smirk.

Gemma laughed. "Damn straight," she said. Bilbo coughed again.

After Gemma had finished what food Bilbo had given her, Fili asked her, "Where'd you get your bow?"

Gemma looked at it on the ground where she'd laid it once she sat down and picked it up. "One of the elves gave it to me." Fili held out his hand, silently requesting to take a look. He ran his fingers over the wood and the tiny engraving of the birds. He pulled back the string and pretended to aim.

"It is well-made. Do you know how to use it?

"My father taught me a long time ago, but I should remember the basics well enough."

Fili handed the bow back to her. "My uncle asked that I help you learn to fight after supper, but my best skills lie in knife and sword fighting, not archery."

Gemma wanted to groan. She'd forgotten what Thorin had sneakily demanded of her when they made their deal, but she supposed it couldn't hurt…much. She reached into her pouch and showed Fili the knife. He approved.

"It fits you well, but I think you should stick with archery tonight. I can't teach you to dodge blades in a dress." Gemma hadn't thought of that. She put the knife back into the pouch.

"Kili is the best archer among us. He can give you pointers," Fili paused to look at his brother teasing Ori across the fire pit in the middle of the pavilion. "If he can contain his blushes" Fili finished. Gemma chuckled. Fili stood up, calling his brother over. He spoke to Kili too quietly for Gemma to hear and Kili nodded then turned to give her a wink. _These boys will be the death of me_, she thought and she stuck her tongue out at Kili impishly, but he just laughed.

Kili gave her a deep bow and said, "Come on, queenie. We'll find a place to practice."

So Gemma, with her bow and arrows in hand, and the two young brothers walked out of the pavilion in search of a good tree to use as a target. They found a large one with several knotted branches hanging from its sides. They walked about seventy paces away from it and Kili said, "Let's start here." Gemma swung the bow from her shoulder and set the quiver at her feet, grabbing a slim arrow to notch on the string. She set her sights on one of the lower branches of their designated tree and pulled back to aim. She fired her arrow swiftly, but the wind dragged it to the right and her arrow fell limply about ten feet away from her. Gemma stomped over to retrieve it and tried again. This time she took a moment to account for the wind and fired again. Her aim was true, but she still fell short of the tree. Gemma took another arrow from the quiver, pulled back a tad bit farther on the string and let her arrow fly. It hit the knot she'd been eyeing with a dull thunk! and she was tempted to squeal in excitement. She didn't think she would be that successful after so many years without practice.

Kili told her to move further from the tree and Gemma stepped another fifty paces back. She shot several arrows, but could not hit the tree. She really didn't get much further than she'd shot before. Kili kept giving her advice, and while he helped her improve, it was not enough to keep Gemma from moaning in frustration when she'd used all her arrows without hitting the tree again. By the time she retrieved them, the sun had set too low for her to see well enough to continue so they walked back the way they had come.

"You're much better than I thought you'd be," remarked Kili.

"Gee, Kili, thanks ever so much," Gemma told him, rolling her eyes.

Kili shrugged, "We'll practice again tomorrow."

"Yeah," Fili interrupted, "you can work on shooting moving targets, like Kili."

"Hey!" Kili protested and punch his on the arm with a solid thwack. The two proceeded to wrestle and punch their way back to their fellow dwarves while Gemma followed behind, careful not to get too close to their flailing limbs.

They passed a stair case and Gemma saw a light at the top of it. She paused, the brawling brothers continuing down the path not noticing she'd fallen behind. Gemma heard Gandalf's distinct voice filtering down from the stairs so she crept up them slowly, doing her best to remain silent.

"Of course, I was going to tell you," Gemma heard Gandalf say, "I was waiting for this very chance. I-I think you can trust I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Elrond's voice answered him. "That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail, if you wake that beast?"

"And if we succeed?" Gandalf argued. "If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the east will be strengthened."

"Yes, the girl mentioned that as well, but it is a dangerous move, Gandalf."

Gemma reached the top of the stairs and waited there, her back pressed against the wall, listening to the two argue on.

"It is also dangerous to do nothing." Gandalf said angrily. "Oh, come. The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright. What is it you fear?" Gemma started to peek around the corner, but a hand wrapped around her mouth, pulling her back. Gemma tried to yell, but the sound was muffled by the calloused hand on her face. She swung around. It was Thorin. He held a finger to his lips and nodded towards the voices. Her heart was still racing from the scare he gave her so she swatted his arm in reproach as they both listened to Elrond's reply.

"Have you forgotten?" the elf asked. "A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?" Gemma looked at Thorin as he stared hard at the ground, his fist clenched. "Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone," Elrond finished.

"No, they rest with the girl and that stone," Gandalf countered. Gemma gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Thorin looked up at her, surprised.

"You cannot place the fate of a kingdom, or of Middle Earth, in the hands of a human child," Elrond said reasonably.

"_I_ am not the one who has done so. The Valar have a will of their own." Gandalf told him sharply. "With or without our help, Gemma and the dwarves will march on the mountain. They're determined to reclaim their homeland, perhaps the girl most of all." Their voices continued back and forth but they drifted away quickly until both Thorin and Gemma could no longer hear them.

They stood there, staring at each other. Thorin stepped closer to her and whispered, "What did he mean?"

Gemma shook her head, feigning confusion, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He looked down at her coldly, his arms hanging down straight at his sides with his fists still clenched. "Why would the fate of my kingdom rest with you?" he breathed fiercely.

This time Gemma did not lie, "I don't know." She shook her head again, her hair swinging in her face. She pushed it back shakily. "I don't know," she repeated and twisted her hands together.

Thorin stopped her fidgeting by laying a heavy hand on top of her shoulder, gripping it tightly. He looked her in the eye, his own reflecting the moonlight shining brightly behind her. "If you have a chance to save my kingdom, will you take it?"

Gemma swallowed quickly, and looked away from his face, thinking frantically. She wanted to say no, to say she couldn't. She wanted to go home; she _needed_ to go home. Gemma couldn't make promises to do otherwise. And she was going to tell him that very thing, but his grip on her shoulder lessened and he dropped his hand down her arm, grabbing her hand.

"Gemma," Thorin asked. She looked away from his hand holding hers and up to focus on his blue eyes once more. "If you have a chance to save my kingdom, will you take it?" his voice faltered at the end and Gemma's resolved melted away.

"If," Gemma started slowly. "If I have the chance to save your kingdom, I will try," she swore.

Thorin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, still holding onto her hand. "Should that come to pass, by Mahal, I will be in your debt forever." He kissed the top of her knuckles swiftly then turned around and went down the steps two at a time, leaving her standing at the top, hand still hovering in the air.

"What the hell just happened?" Gemma asked, eyes wide. She looked down the stairs where Thorin had disappeared from and dropped her hand. "Well, fuck."

* * *

She amazingly found her way back to her room on her own, not brave enough to face the dwarves or Thorin after making the worst promise of her life. Well, besides promising her father that she'd take care of that Ulunsuti. She threw the stone, still in its pouch, onto the bed at that thought. It was the stone's fault she was in this mess to begin with. None of this would have happened had it stayed dormant and just let her bury it back in the ground. Then she'd be at her father's house, still mourning his death. She paused in her undressing, maybe she was better off in Middle Earth after all. Maybe Elrond was right, maybe she'd wanted to be somewhere else so bad that the stone had heard her wish and brought her to a different world altogether. Maybe it was her own fault. Just like it was her own fault that Thorin now expected her to save Erebor.

"Damn it!" she yelled.

A knock sounded on her door and Gemma ran her hands over her cheeks; they felt flushed. She opened the door and saw Annúnel standing there, her hand full and her eyes furrowed in concern.

"Are you alright, Gemma?"

Gemma held the door open and the elf stepped in the room, setting her burden on the bed next to Gemma's pouch. "I'm fine, just frustrated," she told Annúnel wearily.

"About what?" her friend inquired gently, turning to face her.

Gemma sighed, "About everything."

Annúnel smiled softly and hummed a non-committal response. The elf turned back towards the bed and began sorting through the items she had brought.

"What is all that?" Gemma asked her, stepping closer to look.

"They're supplies for your journey. I thought you might want to look at it all before I packed it away."

Gemma felt guilty for her rotten mood when her friend had gone to the trouble to help her so much. "Annúnel, thank you. I don't know what I'd do without your help."

The elf gave her a quick grin and then pointed at Gemma's new belongings. I brought you three pairs of clothes, socks, undergarments, and a cloak from the seamstress. In here," she held out a square wrapped in leaves, "is lembas."

Gemma took it from her and looked at the food inside. "Elvish waybread," she muttered with a smile. Annúnel nodded.

"There's also some dried fruits and a flask of water."

"Thank you, Annúnel" Gemma repeated before giving the elf a firm hug. The lady seemed surprised, but patted Gemma softly on the back in return.

"Here," the elf said once Gemma released her. She held out a small leather thing with two round hoops that looked bracelets, one at each end. "It's an arm brace to hold your knife." Gemma took it and tried it on.

"You think of everything. Thank you, again and again."

Her friend nodded firmly in reply then took Gemma's bag from the floor beside the bed and arranged the extra items inside of it. When she was done, she smiled at Gemma and told her 'goodnight' before leaving the room. Gemma finished undressing quickly, eager to take another dip in the wonderful bath next door.

When she'd finished, combed her hair and braided it as best she could and then she'd dressed in her new clothes: a pair of black leggings and a long dark green tunic that went down to mid-thigh. They were very comfortable and easy to move in; they would make decent pajamas. Thankfully, she'd spotted her original clothes and had put her bra and underwear back on, not yet brave enough to find out what posed as 'undergarments' in this world. She put her duffel bag back on the floor, out of the way, but then realized Annúnel had forgotten to give Gemma her boots back. She thought about waiting until the morning to hunt down her friend, but didn't fancy having to do it while half-asleep the next day.

She grabbed her stone still wrapped in the leather pouch and marched out the door to find Annúnel. She had not walked very far at all before she felt a distinct pull in her gut. Gemma looked at the pouch in her hand, but she didn't feel the familiar burn of the magic from the stone. She walked until she left the house, only pausing to consider the consequences of following the gut-feeling briefly. Regardless of what her mind told her not to do, she kept going, feeling a nudge in a certain direction every now and again until she stopped by a small stream that gurgled peacefully over smooth stones. Gemma was in a round clearing and there was an occupied bench near the stream. On the bench was the shining lady from her vision. She looked exactly the way the stone had showed her, but so much more at the same time.

Galadriel was difficult to look at, yet Gemma did not to look away. The Lady drew the eye with her light, like the moon. But, like the sun, it hurt to stare at her for too long.

"Why do I have the feeling you're early?" Gemma whispered.

The Lady patted the empty area on the stone bench beside her and Gemma towards her. "Perhaps it is because I am," Galadriel whispered back inside Gemma's head.

"Is it because of me?"

"Yes," Galadriel replied, her lips unmoving.

"You know, don't you? You know what I should do," Gemma said once she'd sat down, angling her body towards the shining Lady.

"I have seen who you are, who you have been, and who you might become, but I do not yet know what you will choose to do," Galadriel replied aloud.

Gemma's eyes filled with tears, her shoulders slumping. "Do you know how to send me home?" she asked with a hopeless sob.

"Yes." Gemma sat up straight at her reply. "And no," the Lady added.

"What do you mean?" Gemma questioned, swiping a tear away.

"You will find your way home, through one way or another, but you may not wish it was so at the end."

Gemma wiped another tear from her eye. "Are all elves this frustrating on purpose?" Gemma blurted out.

The lady laughed and, if it was possible, shined even brighter. "You will understand with time," she told Gemma.

"Why did you bring me out here?"

"I wanted to look at you, to see the girl from another world with her dragonstone," Galadriel proclaimed.

"So it is the Ulunsuti then?"

The lady nodded. "But it is also the Arkenstone. You did not need me to tell you that."

Gemma shrugged. "No, I guess not."

"Every world in connected through something, but that door will not remain open forever." Galadriel warned. "I will caution you against divulging more of your secrets, Gemma Halvard. Though, I think your heart offers the same advice."

Gemma thought of the promise she'd made to Thorin after they heard Elrond and Gandalf arguing about the fate of Thorin's kingdom. Gemma knew Thorin thought Erebor was in danger, but when Gemma said she'd try to save his kingdom, Gemma had been thinking of the Line of Durin and she swore to save it if she could. All because she opened her big fat mouth to the elf and the wizard in the first place. So Gemma sighed, but nodded at the Lady's words.

Galadriel placed her hand on Gemma's cheek, persuading the girl to look up at the Lady. Gemma felt small, but warm in her gaze. A curious look entered Galadriel's eyes as she looked at Gemma. "I will not give you counsel, saying do this, or do that…but I have faith you will become who you were born to be." Gemma blinked quickly at her words, comforted by their familiarity. Did the Lady know…?

Galadriel smiled beautifully and gently dropped her hand. "Go to sleep, little one. You will find what you're looking for." And when Gemma got back to her room, she tripped over her freshly-cleaned boots before climbing into her bed with a yawn and assumed that's what Galadriel had been talking about. She tucked the stone under her pillow and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Gemma had a bird's-eye view of a small hill where a decrepit watch tower sat decaying on top of it. The moon shone brightly, highlighting the turret from above. It was not unlike the tower where she'd seen the mass of armies converge in the valley below Erebor. Before she could connect the two in her mind, however, her view changed suddenly. She was standing in the ruin now, but she was not alone this time. There were large wargs and orcs surrounding her and she scrambled to back in fear, but they didn't even glance her way. She realized this was a dream, a horrible nightmare, but was thankful for her autonomy this go-round. A loud deep voice barked a command and one of the orcs moved out of the thick crowd to stand in front of rest. Gemma followed him—at least she thought it was a 'him'—careful to move between the orcs without touching them, but they took no notice of her. When she'd ducked around all of the hideous beasts, she saw a massive creature with scars covering its pale body. His ears were pointed like an elf's, but that is where the similarities stopped. He had no hair that Gemma could see and he wore little clothing, only a dark leather kilt wrapped around his waist that matched his dark heavy boots. Part of his left arm was missing, but he'd replaced it with a sharp, crooked blade that was shoved through his muscled forearm. Gemma cringed. His eyes were a piercing ice-blue. His nose was so flat against his face and that, combined with his bald head, tempted Gemma to call him a Voldemort wanna-be, but the creature grabbed the orc he had called to the front harshly by the neck. He hoisted the shaking orc into the air with one hand all the while shouting at it in a harsh language that gave Gemma goosebumps. The orc said something and the white creature stopped his yelling, throwing the smaller orc to the ground.

The orc struggled to his feet and pulled out a dark cloth from a hidden pocket. He held it in the moonlight and Gemma gasped. It was her dress, the one she'd worn to her father's funeral! The pale monster took Gemma's dress from the orc, bringing it to his face. The brute breathed in deeply with his eyes closed and moaned deeply. Gemma's stomach turned over. 'Fuck, this is bad! Really, really bad!' she thought.

The creature strode over to an enormous white warg. It was immensely larger than the other wargs behind it. The pale orc thrust Gemma's dress under the white warg's snout and the warg sniffed it eagerly. Once it had gotten her scent, the large white orc then mounted the white warg and shouted an order that Gemma did not understand, but she could guess well enough what his intention. The wargs and orcs let out loud howls and shrieks, running out of the tower and down the hill.

"_RUN_," a voice in her head commanded.

* * *

Gemma woke with a shout of fear, breathing heavily. She threw off the bed sheets that clung to the sweat on her body, leaping out of bed and running out the door, her stone firmly in hand.

.

.

.

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**A/N:** "With great power comes great responsibility," is from Spiderman, which I don't own. The first part of what Galadriel says to Gemma at the end of their convo, "I will not give you counsel, saying do this, or do that…," is from Galadriel's speech to the Fellowship in the first book of Lord of the Rings and the last part, "become who you were born to be," is what Elrond tells Aragorn in the third movie when he tells him to "put aside the ranger." I don't own the LOTR books or the movies.

A _spákona _or_ spae-queen_ is simply a prophetess from Norse Mythology. Pretty much the same thing as a seer.

One of my best friends is getting married on Friday and I'm helping her get ready for it almost every single day this week so I probably won't have a lot of time to write. I'm not saying I _won't_ be posting any chapters, but I make no promises that I will either. If nothing else, the next chapter should be posted by Sunday. I wrote an extra-long chapter because of this. You're welcome ;P

Did the conversation between Galadriel and Gemma meet your expectations? I tried to make her be as grand as she is in the movies and books, but it was hard for me to write. I redid it several times. Let me know what ya think!

Thanks for the faves and follows and thanks for reading, you golden rays of sunshine.


	10. Note

First let me say, Holy fuck, I am so so sorry that it's taken me this long to update. Please know that I have so many legitimate excuses: my best friend moved away, my brother had cancer (he's now in remission thankfully), I graduated college, I've had several jobs and quit several jobs, I've suffered bouts of depression, my grandfather died, I had falling-outs with several used-to-be-close friends, a new niece was born, I moved out of my parents house finally, I really could go on and on with my reasons for putting this off, but I finally realized I will always be too busy or too emotional or too whatever because that's just how life goes. I thought if I didn't finish my fanfic then what would I finish? I can't be a quitter for the rest of my life. I kept thinking and plotting this story out in my head and I'm still not quite sure of how it ends but we're gonna get there damnit. After like two years of writer's block, I'm back, I swear.

Second, while I will continue this story I cannot promise frequent updates, but I won't ever leave it as long as I did. I also cannot promise the same writing style or tone in the upcoming chapters as the previous ones. I am a very different person compared to the Katie from 2015. A lot of shit has gone down ya'll. I still want this story to have a happy ending, but I have a strong suspicion that my cynicism may leak into this story more than I want it to. Please tell me when it gets to be unbearable.

Third, I am working two jobs currently: one full-time desk job as an office manager (which is where I will be doing most of my writing) and a part-time job in retail (ugh.) So while I usually have oodles of free-time at my day job, I am still exhausted constantly and sometimes will not have the energy to write or be creative.

Fourth, one of the aforementioned used-to-be friends has forced me to look for another place to live and I will be moving in September so there might be periods of radio silence around then too.

Fifth, the main thing that has kept me motivated to not just remove this story altogether is the people who reviewed asking me to update and not give up. Thank you. Truly, if this thing is ever completed it will be because of you. Please continue to review, don't give up on me. I need your comments, be they of criticism or of praise, to keep going. If you guys don't care about the story or the characters, it makes it hard for me to care as well.

I should be able to get chapter ten out by Tuesday, July 25th at the latest.

Forever yours,

Katie Moon


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Once more into the Fray

Quick recap: Gemma, our heroine, has fallen into Middle Earth, quite literally, after attempting to fulfill her father's last wish… which was to feed a blood-thirsty stone and put it safely back to sleep-crazy right? Ever pragmatic, Gemma follows the group of dusty dwarves running for their lives to Rivendell in the hope that some fancy elves will know how to send her home. Along the very quick trip from the Trollshaws to Rivendell, Gemma learns the Ulunsuti (the Arkenstone…or is it?) conveniently gives her special powers such as night vision, glimpses into the future, and prophetic dreams, with more to possibly be discovered soon. In Rivendell, she meets said fancy elves, but they're not as helpful as she'd like them to be.

Last we left her, Gemma had a nightmare wherein Azog found her lost dress and thanks to his white wolfie, he's now hot on her trail…

* * *

_Gemma woke with a shout of fear, breathing heavily. She threw off the bed sheets that clung to the sweat on her body, leaping out of bed and running out the door, her stone firmly in hand._

Before she could make it more than five paces from the bedroom, a hand shot out from the darkness of the hallway and grabbed her by the arm. Gemma squeaked and spun around. Eyes wide and no verbal filter to be found, she exclaimed, "Merlin's tits! I almost punched you in the face!"

Galadriel was standing in an alcove, looking distressed and yet amused. She let go of Gemma's arm and said quickly, "I didn't mean to startle you, but I know what it is you saw. I came to warn you." The lady looked down the hall covertly and whispered, "You must leave."

Gemma stepped back against the brick wall, her mind racing and her heart thumping harshly against her ribcage. She needed to know what had occurred while she slept. They definitely needed to leave, but what if she had sped things up? The Company was in danger, yes, but what if they left too soon? Certain things needed to happen. She could only disrupt the timeline so much before things got out of hand, before she lost even more of what she knew to be true. Her pulse skipped a beat at that thought. _Things I know to be true_, she scoffed mentally, _is anything true or real anymore? _Standing there, in an ancient architectural wonder with a literal telepathic Elven Queen, who was probably reading her every thought right now, looking down at her patiently waiting for Gemma to make her next move, Gemma finally felt the full force of her situation. "This is insane," she muttered. "I am certainly, utterly insane."

She pushed her hair out of her face roughly, pulling on the roots as if they were the source of her frustrations. "I've finally cracked." Galadriel's eyebrows raising and the left corner of her mouth ticked up minutely.

"No really," Gemma continued, "I always thought I would eventually, what with the world being such a disastrous mess and the increase of gun violence and my neighborhood is sketchy enough as it is, I did get robbed that one time, and not to mention the racial tensions and gender inequality and don't even get me started on the mistreatment of Natives STILL in 2017! and my job can be really stressful and everything is so fucking expensive and no one wants to raise minimum wages and I want to have the stamina to be a vegetarian, but meat is just SO GOOD, ya know, and I think my grandmother had a mental illness and that can run in the family sometimes and without my birth control my moods swing like crazy, but the healthcare system is going to pot and I don't think I could even afford it without insurance and so I always just assumed my brain would give out eventually but not until I was at least past sixty." Gemma paused and took a deep breath before spouting, "And maybe by then they would have fixed the whole not being able to retire because social security ran out thing or whatever even though we all have to keep paying it and I could just live in a retirement home and not have to worry anymore about my sanity being in tact and I could hope my future kids would worry about it and all I would have to deal with is ol' Marge next door stealing my bird feeder or some shit."

Gemma ran one hand anxiously through her hair again. Her other hand was still clenched around the Unlunsuti. The Elven Queen gently took Gemma's hands in her own and wrapped them around the stone and said firmly, "Gemma Halvard, you are a part of your world no longer. Here there are different, urgent things that demand your concern. This is your reality." Galadriel squeezed the girl's fingers, her thumbs pressing into Gemma's knuckles sharply to draw her focus. "You must listen to what I have to say."

Gemma blinked, then nodded and began to open her mouth to reply, "Sorr–"

"No," Galadriel urged. "Just listen. The pale orc is coming and you are in danger yes, but there is a darkness lurking in the shadows that poses a greater threat to all of Arda, not just you and Thorin's Company." The lady paused and spoke in Gemma's mind, "You know of what I speak."

Gemma swallowed harshly and whispered, "I know about the ring–"

"And you must keep that knowledge silent, not everyone can live knowing their fate, but it is not only The One Ring you must beware of Gemma. Seven rings were given to the dwarves, three are missing, but four were consumed by dragons. One of the four was destroyed by Smaug."

Gemma pulled her hands from the Lady's grasp and folded them against her stomach. "That's not part of the story."

"Gemma, no creature is born evil. They must be twisted and melded and motivated to turn into what is feared. Smaug knew of the dwarven rings, and in his greediness, he stole one. He hoped it would increase his hoard, but it only gave him malice and made him cruel." She stopped, watching the words sink into Gemma's mind. "If your stone is both the Ulunsuti and the Arkenstone, which dragon do you think it came from?"

Gemma frowned and shook her head, "I don't understand. Stop speaking in Elf and tell me what you think I should know."

The Elven Queen almost huffed and, clearly disgruntled, said "Smaug is the only dragon left in Middle Earth. The Arkenstone is the only one of its kind. Does it not stand to reason that your stone could have once belonged to the dragon imbedded in Erebor, the destination of the first people you came upon after the stone took you here, to this world?" Galadriel implored, "Do you not think the stone has a will of its own? Has it not motivated you to come this far?"

"It was Gandalf who found me!" Gemma protested. "Maybe the stone wants something from _him_. I think he secretly knows how to send me home anyways. He doesn't fool me with his old man act he tries to pull sometimes. I'm not naïve enough to think the stone is not an advantage, not to mention he knows I know things! I feel manipulated to help, but I still want to anyways. I don't know why, but I care. I know the ending of this journey, but I care enough to help, Gandalf's interference be damned. It's my choice to go, not the stone's!"

Gemma's chest shook with emotion and her eyes watered. She looked away from the elf to her feet. She didn't have any shoes on and she was just now noticing. Her elvish nightgown almost covered her toes; it was nothing like what she'd sleep in at home. Gemma was terrified of encountering the Ring, but hadn't given it much thought because that was later and here and now there were orcs and elves and dwarves and she had had no time to worry about the fast-approaching future. She shivered. Gemma didn't want to even consider the stone having a hold over her like the Ring did its bearers. She would not be swayed over to the dark side.

She looked up, focusing on Galadriel's vivid blue eyes. "_If_ the stone wants something at all, what would it want?" she asked.

"I can only assume it wants to return to it's holder, or guardian if you will. If it was once Smaug's, then to Smaug it might return."

Gemma's mouth turned flat, "That just seems so far-fetched and nothing like the story I know."

Galadriel raised her brow and her mouth curled upwards and Gemma sighed.

"Your right," Gemma acquiesced. "This is _all_ far-fetched and nothing like the story I know anyways."

The Queen nodded. "Your story has already changed the story of other's. You cannot stop a ripple in a pond, we must merely wait and watch the effects."

"What if there's too many ripples and there's no pond left in the end?"

Galadriel smiled softly, and answered, "Then we wait for the rain."

* * *

After that dizzying conversation, Gemma had gone back to her room to gather her things. Galadriel had said in a wistful voice something about being late for a meeting and told Gemma goodbye. Gemma's mind took a turn at the parting and wondered if she should ask for a hair from the Queen's head, but before she could even make the reference, Galadriel was gone.

Gemma shook her head, trying to focus. She stuffed her feet into her boots and quickly changed into one of the outfits Annúnel had provided. The brown pants were snug on her hips, but they were warm and well-made, and fit nicely under her tall boots. The blue tunic was soft and tight around her breasts. Gemma worried about the one bra she had (which of course she was wearing), but didn't have time to commission another. She wrapped a belt around her waist and tied the pouch she used yesterday to hold her stone around a loop she suspected was for a sword. She prayed she wouldn't be given a sword, even though she had strong suspicions it would be needed. Gemma would stick to her bow and hope that if the stone wanted to go to Erebor, and Smaug, badly enough it would keep her alive long enough to take it there.

Gemma slung her duffle bag over her shoulders and grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows and left the room without a second glance. It was still the middle of the night and the torches in the hallway were low. She made her way quickly and as quietly as she could to where the gang of dwarves had stayed the night before. She came upon a central path that led to the kitchens and saw a head of curly hair creep out of the kitchen doors.

"Bilbo," Gemma hissed.

The hobbit froze like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Bilbo!" Gemma said a little louder. When he caught her gaze, she waved her hand and whispered, "Come on."

Bilbo tiptoed his way over to her, but Gemma huffed and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the darkness. "We have to find the group," she told him.

Bilbo, sensing her urgency, stuffed the muffin he'd pilfered into his mouth and nodded. They heard the rough snoring before laying eyes on the dwarves. Gemma shook the first dwarf she saw, which happened to be Bifur. "Wake up!" she whispered harshly. "Get up!" The dwarf sat up suddenly, the axe in his forehead almost hitting Gemma in the nose. He grumbled something angrily in dwarvish. She crawled over him to reach Bombur who she poked quite meanly in the stomach. That dwarf simply rolled over, his snores now muffled into Fili's legs which Bombur had been using as a pillow. "Bombur! Fili! Wake up!"

Bilbo moved to Bofur and shook him awake, although much more gently than Gemma. Bofur kicked Gloin awake and Oin soon followed. Dori, who was supposed to have been keeping watch, finally realized someone had gotten past his guard and jumped up. He saw Gemma and with his hand on his hips asked, "Miss Gemma, what is the matter?"

Gemma, who'd been making her way over to Balin, turned swiftly. "Azog is coming!" Her eyes were wide in the low light of the fire pit, but Dori could see the fear that had made itself known at the slowness of the dwarves' waking.

Thorin sat up, hands clutching Orcrist. He nudged Kili, who been snuggling much too close for comfort, out of his way. "What happened?" He demanded.

"T-the stupid rock, I had a dream. The orcs. My dress! They found our trail," Gemma stuttered out.

Thorin understood the important part of that statement and looked around at his troop. "Gather your things, we leave in five minutes. Be quiet about it," he told them stonily. He grabbed Gemma's elbow and before she could think about her limbs eventually being tugged off from random people grabbing her thoughtlessly, he snapped, "What did you see?" At his tone, she yanked her arm out of his hold and Thorin made a regretful face.

"I lost my dress when we were running from the Trollshaws away from the orc pack. I dreamt they found it and used it to catch our trail," she said guiltily. Thorin glared at her.

"I'm sorry!" Gemma rushed. "We can talk about blame later, but we need to go before someone notifies Saru—well, before we wake up the elves."

Thorin looked suspicious, but said nothing. The rest of the dwarves had finished packing and Thorin grabbed up his pack before leading the group away. The Company followed quickly, but Bilbo lagged behind. He tugged on Gemma's sleeve while Gemma watched them walk away. She blinked and looked down at him. Bilbo frown and tilted his head towards the group, silently pushing her into motion.

They reached the top of the Valley that held Imladris within it's depth and only Gemma and Bilbo thought to give it one last glance of longing. She would miss Annúnel and her kindness Gemma was sad that she had not gotten to say goodbye. She would miss the surety she felt around Elrond and even the beguiling aura of Galadriel. Elves had a way of drawing people in with their consistency no matter how mysterious and, often times vexing, they could be. She would not miss Gandalf, and she would see him soon besides.

Bilbo and Gemma could still hear the water fall from the heights and land below them into the river. Gemma knew that Rivendell was possibly the only place they'd find peace from the terrors of Middle Earth and she really was not ready to venture out into the Wilds. Bilbo, too, felt a sense of regret and had a feeling it would be a long while before such a warm homely place was found on their journey again. The sun was just cresting above the horizon, turning the shadowy Home an even lovelier shade of pink and orange. It looked like the embodiment of calm contentedness, a feeling Gemma longer for and knew she wouldn't feel for a very long time, if ever again.

It was with that dark thought, Gemma turned away from Rivendell and onto the path before her, forced to accept that she was now apart of this tale.

* * *

**AN**: The reference to the dark side is from Star Wars (obviously). I'm very sorry that this long-awaited update was so short, but the chapter really needed to end there because the next chapter is the journey through the Misty Mountains.

This chapter is dedicated to **JustASwedishFan**, if you're still reading this. Thanks for messaging me last year, it meant a lot to me and it still motivates me to keep writing. I apologize if I replied too earnestly and scared you off :P

To anon reviewer Michelle: Yea, I mean Azog is way gross and creepy. I doubt he has sexual feelings towards Gemma, but he lusts for power and I think the stone and what Gemma does through the stone would give off some sort of something that Azog can sense and he wants that power real bad. I hope that makes sense.

To all my past reviewers/followers/favorite-ers, I hope you've stayed with me. If so, thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the tale to come and please let me know if there are mistakes or moments lacking continuity. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own.

I should be able to update later this week, lets say Friday? At latest, next Tuesday, August 1st.

With all my love,

Katie Moon


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11. Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold

"There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go." From _The Hobbit_

Gemma had read somewhere that the human body was not designed to be sedentary or sit still, but to walk and be upright for the majority of its lifespan. Whoever had come up with that thought had never walked through the Misty Mountains, nor had they been forced to follow the grueling pace that Balin mercilessly set for their trek. Balin may look old, with his long white beard and wispy white hair, but he certainly didn't act it. Gemma was, unsurprisingly, straggling behind the rest of the group; the last in a line of dwarves and one hobbit. Bilbo was somewhere towards the middle of the group, not seeming phased at all by the journey. She would see him pop out of line every once in a while to turn around and look at her. Gemma wondered if he was checking on _her_ or checking to see if he could catch one last look at the sanctuary they'd left behind. Either way, her heart warmed when she caught his eye and she felt the tiniest bit of loneliness leave her heart for a moment until the sinking feeling of utter displacement would cloud her thoughts once more.

They'd left Rivendell two days ago and while the troop was not out-rightly rude to Gemma, they certainly didn't seek out her companionship either. Gemma was sure that Thorin had explained to them why they'd had to leave in such a hurry. And while she knew she should feel at least slightly guilty for not noticing the missing dress and endangering the others, she really didn't. Gemma felt perfectly content at the excuses she had ready for whenever she did feel tempted to give in and maybe apologize to the group. After all, she had just been thrown into a situation completely outside of anything she'd ever dealt with, let alone thought possible. She'd literally been running for her life to escape from being warg chow. Gemma was alone in this world, for all intents and purposes. The only reason she was being allowed to tag along was because she had the stone and, fortunately for her, it was too stubborn to let anyone else keep it. She owed them nothing.

Gemma wasn't watching her feet and her right foot slid on the shale-topped ground of the mountain. She didn't fall, but she let out a soft "oof," and she felt someone's gaze fall upon her. When she looked up, she just caught sight Thorin's head turning around quickly. That too, had occurred several times these past few days. Gemma was no mountain climber and was prone to stumbling on the unfamiliar terrain. She'd made no serious mistakes so far, but any change in her pace or footfalls and Thorin would glance in her direction. Unlike Bilbo's friendly look, Thorin's was a scorching glare. It was fleeting, but she still felt the heat long after he had turned away. _Probably making sure I haven't chunked this stupid rock off the Cliffside_, she thought contemptuously, scowling at the pouch that held the Ulunsuti swinging from her hip.

After two days of sweat-filled climbing, increasingly sore muscles, lembas bread, and little conversation, Gemma's mood was grumpy and unforgiving. Her disposition felt almost as blistered as her feet. She wanted a bath and sleep and a huge glass of iced tea and then she wanted to cry at the thought that she would only have one of those things available to her today…and even then it'd be about five more hours or so before the sun set and Thorin called for a halt.

She sighed at the thought of bedding down for the evening. Sleeping on the ground was for the birds and she felt even more alone at night with only the light from a low fire and the stars, and Bilbo of course, offering a semblance of comfort.

Bilbo was a blessing. He was a chatty fellow and excelled in small talk. He'd asked about Gemma's family at the beginning of their trip into the Wilds, but with Gemma's father's death fresh in her mind, she steered away from the topic and Bilbo had enough sense to notice. So instead they spoke of hobbies and the weather, which had yet to change so far. Gemma worried about what to tell Bilbo and the others about her world. How much would they be able to understand; how much would they find foolish or unnatural?

She told the hobbit about her weaving and showed him the simple blanket she'd made for her father's funeral gift. Gemma was grateful she hadn't lost it as the evenings were chilly. Bilbo spoke of the books he'd read and the family heirlooms he'd kept in pristine condition, but what really brought a spark to his eye was the topic of his plants. He'd said mournfully that they were sure to fall into disrepair without him to tend them, but hoped his hobbit neighbors had the forethought to at least keep in good condition the tomato plant that bordered his fence line as it had been planted by his mother. Bilbo would like to come home to some semblance of familiarity he reckoned.

Gemma knew a little bit about plants. Her father had the wherewithal to teach her from a young age about what plants to leave alone and what might help to cure minor problems. She saw Ori covertly taking notes by the fire when she and Bilbo conversed and Dori had perked up when Gemma mentioned that pine needle tea was good for a common cold. When Bilbo felt the need to walk with her as she lagged behind the others, he'd point out a few of the flowers they'd come across and what they might mean. She never been interested in the language of flowers, but she could see how important it would be in a culture that thrived around "good tilled earth". Bilbo had even offered her a smoke from his pipe once, but she turned it down swiftly and Bilbo was all too happy to keep it for himself. Gemma felt indebted to Bilbo for the moments of kindness he spared her.

She thought she wouldn't miss Gandalf, but his possible understanding of magic and otherworld-ness was a comfort she didn't realize she had until it was gone. She was so separate from everything –and everyone– around her. In the evenings she would reprimand herself for not planning for the fast-approaching events to come, but she was just so exhausted and no where near as hopeful as she'd been in the Valley.

Gemma stumbled again, this time enough to where the dirt under her feet scattered over the side of the mountain falling farther than she was comfortable contemplating. She absolutely_ loathed_ heights. She was slowly adjusting to the change in altitude, but she'd never strayed that close to side in her journey so far. Her wandering mind was causing her feet to wander as well and Gemma shivered, quickly skidding away from her current position. Thorin had stopped this time to look at her. Gemma caught his eye and smiled tremulously. The dwarven king quirked one eyebrow up and started walking once more.

She righted herself and her knee protested, it would surely bruise from the fall. She slowly put pressure on it and found it steady enough to continue on, if not slower than before. She had hobbled a few steps when she spotted a smattering of odd purple flowers. She plucked one to inspect it further. It was rather pretty with several blooms but only one stem. She tucked it gently into the side flap on her duffel bag to ask Bilbo about later.

* * *

Right before sundown, they'd reached the crest of the mountain. One mountaintop breached within two days, with several to go. Gemma was proud of herself for making it this far, but did not look forward to doing it all over again tomorrow. She threw her bag off her shoulders when the dwarves started pulling kindling from their packs and lowered herself slowly to the ground. Her muscles ached, but her knee hurt fiercely. She hissed once she stretched it out before her and Bilbo looked at her sharply. He walked over from where he'd presumably been helping Bombur start a stew, and said "Are you alright, Miss Gemma?"

Gemma squinted at him with a small pout on her lips, "My knee hurts." She looked down at it and gently prodded it with her fingertips. It felt a little swollen, but she was too sore to bend forward and roll up her tight pant legs.

Bilbo looked at her sympathetically, "I'll bring you some dinner once it's ready."

She, a dusty heap on the ground, smiled graciously. "You're the best, Bilbo." The hobbit blushed slightly and waved off her gratitude before going back the large round pot the dwarves had put over the fire. This was the first hot meal they would be eating since Rivendell. They'd all just consumed dried meats and bread while Gemma had taken small bits of the lembas bread Annúnel had generously provided.

The wind rushed angrily through the mountain tops and around what little shelter there was to be had in the crevasses where they'd laid their temporary campsite. Gemma pulled out her father's blanket and added another tunic atop of the one she had on. It was snug, but it helped fight the biting cold that was creeping across her limbs as the sun continued to vanish beneath the horizon. She scooted a little closer to the fire and therefore the dwarves surrounding it. Mainly, Ori on her left and Bifur on her right. Ori gave her a small gentle smile which Gemma returned.

Gemma wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and waited, feeling rather useless. Next to her, Ori had pulled out pair of what looked to be knitting needles and a ball of brown yarn. The young dwarf saw her questioning gaze and said, "It'll be winter soon enough."

"Yes, I suppose. But you knit?" she inquired.

Ori looked down at the scarf that was wrapped around his neck in several loops then back at Gemma, "Do you not?"

"Not very well. I'm not too shabby at weaving, but that's different."

Ori remained silent and Gemma quickly backtracked thinking he might take insult, "It's not that there's anything wrong with knitting, it just seems so, I don't know, normal. You guys kill orcs with axes and swords, but also knit? I'm just surprised. I didn't mean anything by it." Gemma paused and looked at the fingerless mittens on Ori's hand. "I'm actually rather impressed. Something that well-made could be worth a pretty penny."

Ori shrugged and started winding the yarn around his needle, "Nah, it's just easier to make my own things."

She nodded and sighed, "I wish I was that self-sufficient." She leaned back on her hands, twitching when she stretched her legs out even more causing her knee to suffer more.

"What do you mean?" The dwarf asked with his head tilted slightly.

Gemma waved her hands at him, gesturing to his knitting. "I can't make anything as useful as that. I'm not particularly good at crafting anything."

Bilbo had wandered over and sat between her and Bifur. "Do you have no trade then?" the hobbit questioned.

Gemma paused, "…No, not particularly."

"Are you married then?" Ori asked, peering at her face. "You look old enough to be married."

She snorted, "Well, I guess technically I'm old enough, but I am certainly not married. I never planned to be married until I was at least thirty. I've got too much to do before then."

Kili coughed from where he was sitting across the fire and asked incredulously, "_Until_ you were thirty? How old are you now?"

"I'm twenty-three years old, thank you," Gemma defensively replied.

"Twenty-three years!" Bilbo exclaimed. "You're so young! No wonder you have no trade. You must still live with your family." He looked sympathetic and patted her hand.

Gemma was taken aback, "No, no. I'm an adult…sort of. I'm still in college, but I moved from home a few years ago. I can survive on my own."

Dwalin grunted next to Bifur, continuing to sharpen the axe in his lap.

"Well," Gemma hesitated, "I can survive on my own in _my_ world."

"Must be an easy life you lead lass," Dwalin retorted haughtily.

She frowned and admitted, "In some ways, compared to your own, yes. But my people have had their fair share of hardships."

"What do your people know of hardship, of struggle? You've clearly had a cushioned life, never strayed far from home. You can't even walk a mountain without holding us back by a day and you're already injured," Dwalin accused and pointed at her leg.

Gemma's face flushed harshly. "You don't know anything about my people, or about me. I don't go making poor assumptions about you or yours!" She took a sharp breath and asserted, "We may have more in common than you think. My people were forced from their homes, too. They were slaughtered just because of who they were, all for greed and prejudiced hatred. We've lost our culture and our language and had to adapt to new surroundings, a new way of life. And while that may have been a hundred years ago, we are still fighting for our freedoms, for our lives. We are never seen as equal; we have to fight for everything! At least _you_ can try to get your home back from those that stole it!"

Dwalin had stood up during Gemma's fierce diatribe. His fists were clenched, one around his axe, and his cheeks were ruddy with anger. Gemma stood up clumsily and seethed, "I've inherited more courage and stamina and hold more resilience in the tip of my finger," she held up her middle finger to him, "than you ever could in your big stupid head."

The muscled dwarf took a threatening step towards her, but Bifur grabbed his arm, stopping him and Gemma stomped away, glad for the twinge of pain throbbing through her knee.

* * *

Gemma sat on a rock, huddled under her blanket, far enough away from the group to where she could still see the fire, but hardly anything else. The sun had fully set and she was trying to convince herself to make her way back to the group to sleep. She felt cold and sore and pathetic. She had missed supper, but the sharp wind was far more distracting than her hunger pains at the moment. Gemma felt mildly guilty for having yelled at Dwalin. She was already on thin ice for the whole 'leading the orcs right to them' thing and that escalation earlier couldn't have helped.

She was about to stand when she heard a crunching footstep on the rocks beside her. She turned sharply and saw Thorin staring down at her. Gemma swallowed. He did not look happy.

"You shouldn't have removed yourself so far for so long," Thorin reprimanded.

Gemma just huffed stubbornly and looked away, not wanting to admit that she was about to head back to the group before she saw him.

Thorin wanted to roll his eyes at her childish lack of response. "You are unsheltered and unprotected. If you get ill or injured, we cannot afford to fall behind more than we have already."

Gemma stood, shoulders hunched. "Fine," she said tersely. "Lead the way."

Gemma stumbled twice in the dark before she remembered to pull out the Ulunsuti. Her vision cleared and she could walk around the difficult terrain without pause. The stone looked much brighter than it did when she last pulled it out in Rivendell. It had more streaks of purple and now some of light blue that were attempting to drown out the white of the stone.

Thorin glanced behind and saw the light between Gemma's fingers. He stopped, causing Gemma to do so as well before she ran into him. The dwarf king wavered before asking, his hand held out, "Might I see it?"

Gemma, secure in the knowledge that she could take it right back without trouble if needed, placed it gently in his palm, barely grazing his thumb with her palm as she drew her hand away. In Thorin's grasp, the stone's light dimmed noticeably. "Huh," Gemma said.

Gemma could make out the shape of him pull it closer to his face and wondered if he could see anything in the darkness. They stood looking at the stone, or what little Gemma could see of it, for a few minutes before Thorin gripped her hand from where it was hanging by her side and brought her finger up to place it on the Ulunsuti. The stone immediately brightened and Gemma could see clearly once more.

Thorin's face looked both troubled and awed staring into the stone. His grip on her hand was warm and she could feel the rough callouses on his fingers. He looked up into her eyes suddenly and muttered, "You mystify me." A butterfly took wing in Gemma's stomach and she blinked, speechless.

Thorin placed the stone fully in her hand and took a step back before turning to walk towards the fire and his Company.

Gemma blinked again, hand clutching the stone close to her body, and mumbled, "Well, hell," before following him quickly back to the safe circle of sleeping bodies.

AN: Yes, I know this chapter is short, although it _is _slightly longer than my last one, but I wanted to get something out to ya'll before the weekend. I hope it wasn't too dramatic and I hope you like it!

Thank you for the favorites/follows! This chapter is dedicated to **Chaney2500 **because they were the only one to review. Hey Chaney, YOU are wonderful!

Please review and let me know what you guys think. I have no beta so all mistakes are mine.

I love you all, you beautiful sun-spots!

Katie out.


	13. Chapter 12

Thorin had the last watch of the night, which he preferred. He enjoyed see the creeping colors of the sunrise make its way gradually across the sky. He enjoyed the silence of the dawn, with only the snores of his family and friends and the noises from the nocturnal creatures settling down to rest to keep him company. He enjoyed being able to clear his mind of yesterday's troubles and prepare for the following journey, to plan out a mental map of their road and calculate any obstacles that might occur. However, Thorin did _not_ enjoy waking to a conundrum that had been tangling his mind for almost a week.

He felt unfocused, unprepared, and unsettled by Gemma's presence. And what she had brought along with her…the Arkenstone. _The_ Arkenstone. It was finally within reach. After 150 years of only dreaming about such a possibility and the stone was mere steps away from his possession. But the Arkenstone came with unexpected baggage, an unwanted addition that left Thorin with a complicated problem and it left the uncrowned king exceedingly frustrated.

He should feel grateful, he knew, for half of his life-long goal had been accomplished. To take the Arkenstone from the serpent Smaug had been something Thorin was unsure could ever be done. Then this girl is dropped into their laps with the stone in her grasp, yet it was changed. The stone looked unusual by itself: a white rock with blue and purple streams of color running through that he never would have deemed worthy of all his people's hopes and dreams. But with Gemma's touch, it was transformed. A hundred years could not fade the memory of the Arkenstone from Thorin's mind. Its azure radiance called forth images of home and of kin that nothing else could. In Gemma's hands, the rock became something infinitely precious and upon looking at it Thorin felt something he hadn't felt since his time in Erebor: peace. Peace in the surety that there was a future for his people, for his family. Peace in the glow of the stone that would secure his right to lead, to rule. And Thorin was grateful for that feeling, but he wished it did not come with such stipulations. He wondered if he should not have been more specific when asking the Gods for the Arkenstone to be returned to him.

Gemma was of man and a female to make matters worse. A young, fragile, breakable being that slowed their voyage, something they could not afford if they wished to reach the Lonely Mountain by Durin's Day. She knew nothing of the road, of traveling, or of defending herself from harm. The girl was a distraction and a liability. If she was injured or she should perish, what would become of the Arkenstone then? Would it lie dormant as just a pale worthless rock? Would it even remain in Middle Earth, or would it go back to the land where Gemma called home? This lack of knowledge created a large blank space of unpredictability in his vision of the future.

And the visions the stone gave her? That was one of the most unusual aspects of the Arkenstone's return. His grandfather never mentioned any visions of the future, nor had Thròr claimed knowledge he had no way of obtaining. And the stone never appeared as it did now, a colorless false impersonation of itself. It was always a beautiful bright blue gem with purple accents that caught the eye of many guests and subjects that brought themselves before the throne of the king. A symbol of the steadfast line of Durin, a gift from the Mountain itself. The Arkenstone and Gemma were connected in a way that Thorin could not fathom and this fact drained Thorin of any comfort he might draw from the morning sunrise that was barely peaking over the horizon.

* * *

On the mountaintop, the morning sunlight graced the Company later than it had before. Not by much mind you, but Gemma felt the extra hour of sleep might have actually been worth the strenuous climb…that was until she sat up. Her neck creaked and her knee throbbed. She let out an involuntary groan of discomfort causing the dwarf next to her, who she thought might have been Dori based on the white-haired top knot sticking out from underneath the pile of blankets, to grumble sleepily. A few of the other dwarves were adding fuel to the embers left over from the night before, but most were still warding off the casual sounds of morning wakefulness that were gaining hold in the camp while they snored away.

Overtaken by the sudden urge to relieve herself, Gemma achingly climbed to her feet and ambled to a clump of bushes away from the camp. She looked around quickly, then did her business. She pulled her pants up quickly and knew she'd never get used to peeing outside; Gemma fervidly missed modern plumbing. The bush on her left rustled and Gemma shoved her tunic down over her pants frantically thinking it was a member of the troop, but it was only a small bird, twittering from one bush to another. Gemma let out a sigh, relieved she hadn't been caught with her pants down, literally.

With her arms stretched high, back popping, muscles straining, Gemma looked out into the world. The sun shined heavily on the valley below, skimming the tops of the trees and turning their leaves a glorious golden-green. She saw no sign of the hidden valley where Imladris resided, nor any sign of humanity at all as far as her eye could see. For a moment, she felt as if she was the only person in this strange place, a place that looked so similar to her world, but felt nothing like home. Gemma turned around and the grey mountains before her were a stark contrast to where they had started their path into the Wilds. They looked dark and bleak, as ominous as the dangers that lay ahead for her. She had foreknowledge of this whole tale and a stone that gave her prophetic dreams and yet she felt as lost and unsure about the future as Thorin did, though she would never know that.

She made her way back to camp and, seeing that the rest of the troop was awake and preparing for climb _down _the mountain, she folded her precious blanket and the extra tunic she'd worn to sleep in and placed them in her duffel. She checked her pouch that held the Ulunsuti and made sure the ties were snug. A bite of lembas bread and she was ready to go. She scrubbed her hands over her face while the dwarves finished their clean-up of breakfast and grimaced, thinking again of how long it could be before she would be able to bathe again. How long did it take the dwarves to travel from Rivendell to Beorns? She couldn't remember. It could be days or weeks. Certainly not months though. She was certain the book had been finished before winter truly came.

"Did you get to break your fast, Miss Gemma?"

Gemma startled, not at all expecting conversation from anyone after the way last night's confrontation had ended. She looked at the crease that was forming between Ori's eyebrows in concern.

She gave him a small grin, "I may be sick of elvish waybread, but I won't starve."

Ori nodded but the furrow of his brow remained as he made his way over to gather his rucksack. The dwarves filed out of their night's shelter with little discussion, Balin once again finding some hidden path among the rocky floor. Gemma heaved her bag over her shoulder and followed the group, once again bringing up the rear.

* * *

The way down was as monotonous and as cruel as the way up, the only difference was that Gemma was now even more likely to fall to her death. Going up, she didn't have to look down to acknowledge how far she was from the ground. She could fool herself into believing it wasn't that high. Going down, she had little choice but to view the distance and think about how long she would fall before she became a mere pancake scattered across the rocks below.

Her neck hurt from watching her feet constantly, but it was only one more ache among many. He legs had cramped for the first few hours of climbing and sliding, but after that they became numb and she could no longer feel the throbbing of her strained knee. Her whole body felt like one big muscle burn and while the numbness made the climb more difficult, Gemma couldn't help but be thankful for the slight reprieve.

The dwarves, too, seemed to be having more difficulty with this part of the journey. Bombur was huffing and puffing enough for Gemma to hear him from a few feet behind him. The rest of the dwarves were only doing marginally better, with Balin and Thorin leading the way as usual.

Gemma swiped a sleeve across her forehead to stop a line of sweat from dripping into her eyes. The air felt much warmer than last night and had taken on a wave of oppressive humidity. It smelled of ozone and Gemma had a sardonic thought that maybe she'd be getting a shower much sooner that she had guessed.

She was right. About midday, the sky had cracked open with a deafening boom and rain had followed soon after. It was no soft summer shower either. Torrents of rainfall soon had them all drenched and there wasn't any part of Gemma that was left dry. Her thighs chafed at the wet clothing and her socks squished unpleasantly in her boots with every step she took. It was no longer sweat that burned her eyes, but a cold, shiver-inducing deluge. The rain and the thunder drowned out any sound made by her companions and it was all Gemma could do to keep placing one foot in front of the other, scrabbling in the mud and the rocks hampering her passage down the increasingly narrow pathway carved, by beasts or by nature, into the side of the mountain.

The sky darkened sooner than it should have and Thorin called for a halt. Gemma nearly walked into Bombur, her eyes still on her feet which were practically indistinguishable in the mud. She stopped in time and looked up, rain streaming down her face. They were still on the small trail on the cliff side with no shelter around that she could see. Gemma poked Bombur's arm gently and he turned to face her, his beard flattened to his face and chest making him look quite comical.

"Why are we stopped?" Gemma yelled over the rain.

Bombur yelled back, "It's too rough to keep going. We camp here for tonight."

"Here?! We'll fall to our deaths in the night!"

The rotund dwarf shook his head, "We can't keep going and we can't go back! This is as good as it gets for now."

Gemma shuddered, both from the fear and the cold. The wind had picked up and gotten colder with the sun hiding behind the storm clouds. The group huddled side-by-side against the mountain wall so Gemma did the only thing she could and slid down to the ground, drawing her muddy legs against her chest. Her left side slightly warmed by Bombur's form next to her and her right side jealousy protested the lack of warmth with another shiver. Her blanket wasn't safe from the rain in her back and the lembas was soggy and quickly disintegrating from the wet. Cold, tired, and lonely, she buried her head in her arms and began to cry knowing the dwarf next to her wouldn't be able to tell the difference between rain and tears.

**AN:** Sorry this is both late and short, but I was sick all last week and still am this week AND I'm about to be fired from missing so much work so please forgive me if I don't update for a week or two. Also, sorry that this chapter was so depressing. The story took on my feelings of woe. This is not beta'ed all mistakes are mine. Please please review.

Love you,

Katie Moon.


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